If It Hurts This Much
by JSBG
Summary: Santana and Brittany have been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when they stumble into serious romantic territory? Girl!Peen entails.
1. chapter one

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter One]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17**  
>Summary:<strong> They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>10,000

**Warning: **Santana G!P - not for the faint hearted!

* * *

><p><strong>July 2001<strong>

_There's music blaring through the street as Santana heads down it; her pigtails bobbing against her shoulder blades with every step and her pink Powerpuff Girls backpack clinging to her bony, seven-year old frame._

_To her left there's a small crowd of people, multiplying in size on the basketball courts across from her house and she can see from at the foot of her stoop the different ethnicities mixed among there. Black, white, Asian and everything else downtown New York has to offer. They're all dancing, a make-shift dance mat with a boom box to the right on the floor as their limbs glide and pop along to the beat._

_Santana's long stopped moving to stare. It's not her fault, she just finds dancing fascinating. It always renders her awe-struck when these guys and girls dance because it's almost as if their limbs are disconnected from their bodies. Their arms wave like a piece of spaghetti, and their bodies roll like they belong in a bakery. They way they dance is just so beautiful and before she knows it, Santana's crossed the road – her abuela would totally kill her if she told her she didn't check left and right before crossing – and now she's standing behind the crowd, trying to peer between their legs to see the dancing up close._

_And somehow, she manages. She manages to worm her way through the crowd, pushing with her hands to separate legs as she ducks through them until she's at the front of the crowd, head tilted back slight and eyes wide as she just gazes. Gazes at the dancing and the freedom of the dancer's moves. It really is just incredible._

_But then something catches her eye from across the group, and her focus is shattered. Bright, sparkling blue eyes are staring straight at her, almost smiling, if that were possible, and Santana feels a weird fluttering inside her stomach. This girl looks like something out of a Disney movie, or like, a fairy tale. She has long blonde hair, tied into a ponytail and slung over her right shoulder, and her skin is smooth and pale. The only thing Santana can compare her to is Cinderella or even Rapunzel – except without the freakishly long hair or hole-ridden clothes._

_Someone knocking into her breaks her from her reverie and she snaps her head around, switching on the scowl she copied from her abuela but only finds legs in front of her. Everyone's so much taller than she is, and she knows that people probably aren't paying attention to her whilst this dance battle is going on, but still, they could try to watch out a little. Even if everyone is like, a teenager or older and has a good two or three feet on her height. Apart from this blonde girl of course._

_Glancing back across the circle, disappointment sinks in as she finds the girl missing. Her shoulders slump and face drops and she figures her abuela is waiting for her anyway so she might as well be going. And all these stupid people are pushing her around and shoving her further back into the crowd anyway, so she can barely see the dancers._

_Santana ducks beneath legs and knees, barging through with her shoulders and pushing out of the crowd, feeling a little more than angry because these tall people are just being mean. They should be nice to a kid. She's sure it's like, in the rules of the world or something._

_Finally, she gets there, and breaks out into the open with a deep breath. Her face feels all hot from the barely-there space she was basically crawling through, and a fresh blast of air greets her when she pops out from between the last pair of legs and climbs to her feet._

_Except there's someone standing in front of her._

_Pasting on that scowl again, Santana tips her head back and glares at the person obstructing her path with all intent of telling him or her to 'go to hell' 'cause she heard her mom say that to her dad a while back and he got real angry. But the furrowed features are quickly replaced by a blank expression when she finds the blonde girl in front of her, hands clasped behind her back and feet rocking forward and backwards innocently. All the anger and frustration she felt seeps out of her and she finds herself wondering why the hell that even happened. This girl's a stranger. Santana doesn't even know her._

_When she's finally on her feet, Santana dusts off her dungarees and smooths out all the wrinkles. Her abuela taught her that presentation is always the best thing, so she needs to look smart. Her teacher told her that, too._

_But neither of them speak when all is said and done, and Santana arches a brow at the girl as she just smiles and latches onto Santana's wrist – clearly not caring for personal space – and drags her around the circle and towards a bench. She waves her pale hand forward, and Santana looks at her cautiously before climbing onto the bench and turning back around again. This blonde girl has already joined her when she faces the crowd again, and she smiles at the girl before watching the dancers again._

_And then she realizes why she was led up here. From the bench Santana towers over the entire group of people, and can see the mat, the boombox and the several dancers poppin' and lockin' across the 'dance floor'. And it's then that Santana first gets the overwhelming urge to hug the girl. The blonde didn't need to help her, or show her this bench so she could see better, but she just did out of the kindness of her heart._

_For the first time _ever, _Santana thinks she may have found a friend._

_The people continue to dance, and Santana grins at her new companion as they begin to rock and bounce to the music, clapping their hands in time to the crowd doing the same. The dancers, for their part, just move. Move and glide and slide and jump a few meters in front of her. They're just so free. So smooth. And Santana just can't help but stare at them. Her eyes roam over their sculpted calf muscles that clench as they rise upon their tip toes, and their toned arms that flex and roll with every movement. Their abs of steel curl and crunch as their legs bend and twirl them around, and Santana's jaw goes slack as one of the dancers holds his head with one hand and drops his entire body below his shirt, seeming as if his head just dropped off his body._

_It's just incredible._

_But all good things come to an end, and three or four minutes later the music dies. People begin to disperse out, some in groups and a few just in couples and Santana's bottom lip juts out into a pout; that was awesome and honestly, she could watch them for at least a good out or two._

_Pushing the sadness away, knowing there'll be more times like this to come, Santana climbs down from the bench, pressing her hand to the seat and swinging her legs down when necessary, and begins to head home. Her abuela's definitely going to be mad for coming home later than she said, and she doesn't want to make her any angrier. So she darts her way through the people walking away from the crowd, listening to their low murmurs of awe and compliments and can't help but smile._

_Santana manages to get half-way across the basketball court before she remembers the blonde girl, and she instantly turns to search for the girl because she just left without even saying goodbye; but the girl is nowhere in sight. Again, disappointment strikes and Santana exhales heavily, hooking her thumbs into her back pack and making her way to her house once more._

_A small tug on one of her ponytails stops her though, and she grins instantly; the warmth curdling inside her stomach telling her that it's the girl again. She twists, peering over her shoulder and finds exactly who she expected to find, grinning down at her from a two inch height gap._

"_Hello."_

_It's simple, and quiet. But there's some strange warmth in the single word, and Santana finds her seven-year old self smiling idiotically up at the girl. _"_Hi."_

_Grinning, the blonde girl sidles up beside her and urges her with a soft push of the palm to Santana's lower back to start walking again. If it were anyone else, Santana would probably screech at the girl for touching her _again, _because seriously? Personal space? But this girl just seems to drain all of that out of it, and she can tell if they're going to be friends, this is something she's going to have to get used to._

_Somewhere along the walk home and this strange girl's rambling about unicorns and rainbows, Santana slides her eyes to the left and takes a quick peek at the girl. She's pretty sure she goes to school with her, because she's convinced she's heard about a girl who has an obsession with mythical creatures going around in her art class, but she's never really paid any attention. Not until now, anyway. And now she can't seem to stop _wanting _to hear about unicorns and rainbows because it just means more time to listen to this girl talk._

_After a few minutes, they arrive at Santana's house and she begins to climb the stoop, pausing when the blonde girl speaks._

"_I'm Brittany. Brittany Susan Pierce."_

_She turns around, looking down at the girl and examining her body and clothes; the way her bright yellow tank top hangs a little limply off her thin arms, but how the orange duck takes all focus away from that because it's kind of cute. Even if ducks were like, so three years ago._

"_So?" She replies, because it's just in her nature to be mean to anyone who thinks it's a good idea to talk to her._

_That probably explains why she's never had any friends though. Throughout kindergarten, she would always sit in the sand pit, surrounded by toys and other five-year old's and would always greet the kids who were brave – or stupid – enough to talk to her with a scowl and a small hiss (because snakes are scary and they wouldn't come back if they were scared of her) and they would just run off._

_Then again, it could be because of her... _extra appendage, _that kept her from being nice to people. All through her life her mom told her how different she was, how she would never really fit in with the other little girls because other little girls didn't have the parts she did and how she would never be able to be friends with the boys either, because technically, she was still a girl and so the boys wouldn't want to hang out with her either. From then on, there was this wall she put up – protection, you could say – that kept potential friends away. And before this strange blonde girl everyone had proved that having friends was pointless, because they'd always end up stealing your toys or breaking something of yours._

_But Santana doesn't know that this girl with the duck shirt and jeans with holes in the knees, is the one to change things around. Not quite yet, anyway._

"_You don't want to be friends with me," Santana tells the girl, trying to save her time because Santana Lopez doesn't _do _friends. Not now, not ever._

_But Brittany just tilts her heads to the side and pouts. "Yes, I do. I like you," she tries, climbing the steps._

_Santana wants to scoff at the girl. Being only seven years old, most people would think that she doesn't know much about the world. Doesn't know about poverty, or diseases, or the downfall of modern-day economy; but she knows a lot more than most seven-year old's do. Including the fact that normal girls don't have the parts she does. And she's learnt to be content with the fact she's different from most. She's learnt to be content with the fact that girls like her don't make friends easily. And now, that's what she's trying to tell Brittany._

"_I'm different, though," she announces, shrugging and causing her back pack to shift further up her back. "You don't want to be friends with me."_

_Brittany seems adamant, though. "I'm different, too," she tries, scrunching up her nose in confusion and distaste. "My mommy says my brain don't work the same way as other girls do 'cause unicorns aren't horses who did extra good and got a horn for it instead of a medal. They're magical ani-nam-al that don't exist," she explains with the world's most adorable pout._

_Still, Santana narrows her eyes. This girl is weird, but there's something really cute about how weird she is. Friends can think that though, right? She assumes so, and looks back over her shoulder, seeing the curtain twitch and hand come out. Her abuela's waving her in and so she turns back to Brittany and readjusts her grip on her backpack, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth._

"_I've gotta–"_

"_We can be different together," Brittany cuts in, looking all kinds of cute and innocent as she rocks on to the balls of her feet and back down again, repeatedly. "We can be friends."_

_Santana doesn't take that as a suggestion, as more of a request and can't help but nod in agreement. There's something so enticing about this girl. So tethering that she finds herself unable to tell the girl no. Sure, they've only just met, but doesn't that just make it weirder? They've known each other for what, ten minutes and this girl's already driving Santana crazy, but intriguing her beyond what she thought was possible?_

_So weird._

"_Sure," Santana sighs, and before she knows it Brittany's climbed up the stoop to the step below hers and wrapped her thin arms around her waist, pulling her into a hug she didn't know she needed. _

_Although, because it caught her completely off guard, Santana's now standing like a plank of wood with her arms crushed beneath the other girl's and so she can't actually return the embrace, instead just standing there awkwardly until Brittany releases her. Despite the awkward angle though, Santana can't help but think that she doesn't _want _to stop hugging this blonde girl. Hugs to her are like Christmas. They only come around once a year, and that's when her papi decides to come back to the house. But even that isn't guaranteed. Last Christmas wasn't, anyway._

_The hug ends, and Brittany pulls back with a wide grin over her face, showing the gap in her mouth from where one of her front teeth are missing and it makes Santana grin right back. _

"_We're friends now, okay?" The girl says, and Santana is a little startled from the sudden embrace and so all she can manage in reply is a weak nod._

_And as Brittany bounced down the stairs, muttering the word 'awesome' underneath her breast and grinning with uncontainable excitement, Santana can't help but wonder if they would ever actually _be _friends, because people don't seem to stay with her long – even if they're related._

_Little did she know that, that right there? Was just the beginning, and that friendship would most definitely last for eternity._

* * *

><p><strong>Late October, 2018<strong>

Santana stretches her arms way above her head, tilting her neck from side to side and hearing the satisfying click as the kinks in her muscles are worked out. It's Friday, it's 7pm and she's just signed a young hip-hop hopeful, going by the name of Robert Pointer to her company's label, Millennium Records.

She's been an A&R executive for the past four years of her life, straight out of college aged 20, and into an internship which ended with her becoming one of the most renowned executives in the business. And right now? Her life pretty much rocks. She has a smokin' hot girlfriend and the best _best _friend in the entire world, and to top that all of her job is kick ass and pays _incredibly _well.

There's not much to complain about.

She tilts her head back, rolling the back against the leather of her chair from side to side, closing her eyes and wondering what to do with the rest of her Friday night.

There's a party out on her apartment's roof tomorrow night, all thanks to her girlfriend Sophie's insistence on hosting some type of gathering, which she could be helping with. But then a certain blue-eyed, blonde best friend pops into her brain, and her heart aches as she feels like she hasn't seen the girl in what feels like decades. But really, it's only been a year and a half. Still, to Brittany and Santana, that's like, a hundred times longer than they'd _ever _and _have_ _ever_ gone without seeing each other.

She weighs up the options before shrugging to herself and stretching across her desk, picking up her cell and kicking her feet up on the top. Her fingers dial in a familiar number and she brings the phone to her ear, drumming her free hands fingertips upon the counter top.

"_Hello, Pineapple Studios, New York. How may I help you?"_

Santana rolls her eyes at the sound of one of Brittany's smarmy colleagues. They're such stuck up assholes, honestly. "Can you put me through to Brittany Pierce please?"

"_May I ask who is calling?"_

She runs her tongue along the front of her teeth. Swear to God these people just try to piss her off; they know _exactly _who she is because she calls all the damn time, asking for the same freaking' person. "Her best friend."

"_Okay, hold please."_

The line rings out with some crappy, orchestral jazz that makes her want to hang up immediately, but before she knows, there's a ruffling at the end and a familiar voice shouting '_Pierce,__ it's for you' _across the room.

"_Hello?" _The voice says, breathlessly.

Santana smiles and shakes her head, even though Brittany can't see it. Her best friend's voice is like sunshine on a rainy day. "Hey, stranger."

"_San!"_

The sheer excitement in her best friend's voice makes Santana's grin grow even wider, and she crosses one ankle over the other, shutting her laptop. Work's over and done with. This is just Britt-Britt time. "How's it going, B?"

"_Tiring. Matt was off today so I've taught my classes on top of his."_

"Damn girl," Santana fakes a ghetto voice. "How do you handle it?"

"_If it keeps me in shape, and pays my rent, I don't mind all that much."_

She can hear the nose scrunch in her best friends tone and swings her leg off the desk, sitting up straight and resting her elbows on the desk. Her mind begins to race with thoughts of her best friend in a sports bra and knee-length sweatpants and _oh God, _that's so much more than she should be thinking. It's not like she doesn't know Brittany's attractive, because hell, Brittany is _definitely _attractive–

(Like, _really _attractive. So attractive that even a blind person would be able to sense it..)

–But it's just that Santana had spent so many of her hormonal teenage years trying _not _to focus on that, because their friendship was so unique and strong that neither of them wanted to risk losing it by hooking up or involving unnecessary feelings, that it seems a little stupid to go back on _all _that training, just so Santana can put another dollop of Brittany into her spank bank.

Still though, she indulges in the image of a slight sweating Brittany, half-naked and dancing for a few seconds. She's allowed to, it's like best friend rights to know how hot your best friend is. But she still has to remind herself, after the thinking slash day dreaming that their relationship is purely platonic. After all these years, you'd think that Santana would have engrained that in her mind and it would just be an automatic thing now to know that Brittany's _just a friend, _but it's not. Santana doesn't know why though. But she doesn't care to dwell on it too much, fearing the unknown.

Because they're best friends. Always have been and always will be. Brittany may be bisexual, and Santana may be gay, but that doesn't and hasn't ever meant that they were bound to get together at some point. They're best friends, and that's the way it's always worked for them. It's simply, and easy, and there's no complications or questions. They're always there for each other and will continue to be for the rest of their lives.

And Santana's okay with that. Brittany is too.

"True that Britt," she says, clearing her throat. "Anyway, I was just wondering if you were up to anything this weekend? Seeing as you've moved in now and all."

Brittany's just moved in to an apartment a few blocks from Santana and Sophie's. She'd spent most of her time moving as she could never find anywhere that made her want to stay, or keep with a job that she enjoyed enough – or so she'd told Santana – and has recently settled for a nice penthouse apartment downtown and got a job as a dance teacher. Brittany seemed pretty happy with it, and the news had been like the greatest Christmas present ever for Santana, because now it meant she'd get to spend more time with her best friend.

A year and half is just too long.

"_Um," _Santana can almost feel Brittany twirling her hair in deep thought through the phone. _"Not that I can think of. Why? What have you got up your sleeve?"_

"I'm hosting a party, wanna come? You can bring Rachel if you want?"

Rachel Berry – one of Brittany's long-term friends that Santana never liked. But hey, a friend of Brittany's was always a friend of hers – part of the no questions thing.

"You _are hosting a party?" _Brittany chuckles at the thought. _"Since when did pigs start to fly?"_

Santana brings her hand to her chest and gasps dramatically. "I'm offended Britt. I'm not as anti-social as you'd like to think."

"_Name three times you've ever _voluntarily_ hosted a party." _Brittany deadpans down the phone and Santana curses herself, unable to answer the question. _"What's the reason anyway?"_

It's kind of irritating how well Brittany knows her, because it's like Brittany's always one step ahead of her and knows her choice even before she's made one; but it's a comfortable irritating and Santana's grown accustomed to it over the years of their friendship.

_"Santana?"_

Santana tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and thinks. They've been best friends for as long as she can remember, and there's nothing they _don't _share. Everything they do and everything they've ever done is shared between them, and so it shouldn't be that hard to tell Brittany that tomorrow night, she'll be meeting – and finding out about for the first time – Sophie, Santana's long-term girlfriend. Who, for some stupid reason, Santana decided _not _to tell Brittany about in the past. Yet for some reason it's still too difficult to say out loud. So she doesn't.

Instead, she settles with a shrug and a, "Felt like it," and spins around in her chair idly.

Brittany hums down the phone, and Santana knows her best friend is hearing the lie in her words. She crosses her finger and prays that Brittany won't ask anymore.

"_Okay..." _the word is drawn out and Santana clenches her hand into a fist, preparing herself for the 'bullshit' call. _"Well I'll be there. But I'm bringing Rachel. I don't want to get left by Miss Hotshot and all her high-end office friends."_

Santana rolls her eyes playfully. "You know it's not like that Britt-Britt. But I just can't help it if I'm popular," she boats, chuckling to herself as her eyes roam through the glass walls of her office and onto her secretary, Jenny, who's staring at her quizzically.

Coughing, and removing the dirty great grin off her face, Santana turns her features stoic and resumes the proper sitting position. Most of her colleagues – well, the ones that work for her anyway – never see the non-professional side of her. None of them have ever seen her smile or giggle, or even make eye contact with anyone that didn't metaphorically burst into flames. And so she has to keep that reputation up. The music industry is a cut throat business, and the only way she's been able to get to her high-powered position here is to play the bitch.

Of course, doing that had led to several scared employees and a rumor about her being a descendent of Satan, but it'd never bothered her. Always just laughed off with a glass of scotch with her boss.

"_Awesome. 7:30 start, right?"_

Santana can't stop the grin, even if Jenny is still side-eying her. "Am I that predictable?"

"_You are to me, San," _Brittany says back, a smile clear in her tone. _"But I've gotta go now. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"_

Santana nods and exhales softly, remembering she'll see her best friend tomorrow.. "Sure, B. Can't wait to see you!"

"_Me neither, bestie. Bye!"_

"Bye, Britt." She hangs up and slumps back against her chair with a massive grin on her face.

She's missed her best friend more than she could have ever thought possible.

* * *

><p>Santana returns home around 8pm. She slips the key into the lock, pushes the door open with her foot and drops all her belongings on the side table before moving into the apartment.<p>

The living room is the first room she encounters, and so she shrugs off her blazer and throws it over the armchair near the entrance before finding Sophie, sitting on the sofa, watching TV intently and wearing one of Santana's t-shirts with, apparently, nothing beneath it but a pair of lacy panties.

Immediately, Santana's pants begin to tighten and she tilts her head to the side, silently admiring the smooth skin of her girlfriend's legs as she leans against the door frame, yet to be noticed.

Sophie's her long-term girlfriend. Well, long-term in Santana's terms is more than a one night stand. Admittedly, they had started off that way after meeting at a gay bar down on 42nd Street and spending the rest of the night having the most _incredible _sex known to freaking man, but things changed that night. Afterward, whereas Santana would roll off, kiss the girl on the cheek and then head on home, she stayed the night and actually asked for Sophie's number. That lead to some flirty texting, a date here and there and then seven months later, BAM, were moving in together.

It'd been strange at first, because the only person Santana had ever become emotionally attached to was Brittany, but things changed and she guessed at some point she'd meet someone who she would want to settle down with. Couldn't be Brittany, because of their friendship and all that jazz, and Sophie was just as good. Mostly.

The whole 'extra appendage' thing had never been a problem with Sophie, which was good because Santana had some bad experiences with it in the past. In fact, it was quite the contrary to a problem. Turns out, Sophie had always wanted to do it with someone like Santana and after she'd run her hand across the crotch of Santana's jeans during one heated make-out session to find a large bulge, she'd just shrugged and said it was hot. That night was _definitely _a good one.

Santana sighs and straightens up. "You know, if someone broke into the apartment and saw you looking like that," she says, pushing off the door frame and heading towards the back of the sofa where she leans down and grins at her girlfriend. "Burglary would definitely be the last thing on their mind. And then I'd have to kick their ass."

Sophie smiles back and tilts her head, pouting her lips for a kiss. "Well," she says into Santana's mouth. "Getting to see you fight for me would be _really _hot."

Hands gliding over the shoulder of her girlfriend, Santana presses harder into the kiss and twists Sophie's head, manipulating the angle until it's more comfortable. Except Sophie misinterprets the movement and instead latches onto Santana's shirt, tugging until Santana topples over the back of the sofa and onto her, where she shuffles until thighs are either side of her body and she's rocking into her girlfriend methodically.

But she's too tired for anything more than cuddling, and pulls back when the need for oxygen becomes too much, propping onto her elbow to look down at her girlfriend. "Hey beautiful."

"Hey," Sophie returns, pecking her lips and smiling sweetly.

Santana nuzzles their noses together quickly and pushes up until she can stand. "I need a beer. Want anything?"

Her girlfriend twists back to the TV, switching back to her sitting position. "No thanks, babe."

The term of endearment has always been a bit of a problem, and as she smiles and bites back the urge to say that it's a problem, she begins to think about it. In the past, with ex-girlfriends and people she's been seeing, it was always the same. 'Babe' and 'baby' always seemed to make her cringe because they were just so typical for infatuated couples. Always using cutesy names and staring at each other like love-sick puppies, it just isn't for Santana and never has been; but Sophie disagreed with that and so they had to compromise during their two month anniversary dinner because she just couldn't stand it anymore. '_Babe_' was okay. '_Baby_' however, was off the freaking table, and it was okay because Sophie didn't even ask Santana _why _it was like that. Just shrugged and accepted it.

Santana heads for the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes before reaching blindly for the fridge. There's only a few beers inside, and a chunk of cheese that she's pretty sure has been there for a good month or two, and she seriously wishes that Sophie would just do some grocery. There's a food market like a block away, walking distance even, and Sophie always gets off work earlier than Santana and her job is no way _near _as hard as Santana's.

But this isn't the time to start arguing about that, and so Santana glances around, trying to figure out if she has enough energy to even attempt to find the pasta to cook something; but gives up about three seconds in and decides take-out is the way to go. She grabs a beer anyway, cracking it open and taking a long hard sip as she kicks the fridge door shut and heads back into the living room, aiming straight for the desk over in the far corner.

There's a Chinese take-out menu sticking out one of the drawers, and to open it and search for anything but Chinese would just require extra effort and honestly? With Santana's mood and energy level? Screw that. Chinese is always good.

She snatches it quickly, not even bothering to open the draw and walks back towards the sofa, throwing herself down onto the cushion next to her girlfriend and shifting when Sophie leans into her, back pressing into her side and head resting on her shoulder.

"I'm ordering Chinese. You want some?"

Sophie twists her head until she can look at her. "I've already eaten," she replies, kissing the underside of Santana's chin and glancing back at the TV. "But thanks anyway, babe."

Santana tries not to focus on the '_babe_' thing as well as the fact that Sophie could've saved her some dinner or whatever, and digs out her iPhone, dialling in Mr Chow's number and lifting to her ear. There's the small talk at first, the '_how was your day?_' and all of that, but then she begins to recite her usual and Mr Chow tells her how she always has the same thing. A witty remark is on the tip of her tongue and she's about to speak, but then she feels Sophie's hands glide high on her thigh and fingers dance around the seam of her pants. Her eyes widen and mind blanks, and she has absolutely no idea what Mr. Chow just asked her because she's too busy mouthing _'what are you doing?' _to her girlfriend who has this devilish glint in her eye.

It's a stupid question really, because the greenness of her girlfriend's eyes are sparkling with arousal and Santana gulps as the hand on her thigh slips up to her crotch and slides the zip down, reaching inside to grab at her firmly. Lips find the side of her neck, and she can feel herself hardening at a rapid touch as the hand inside her pants begins massaging in circular motions. Down the end of the line, she hears Mr. Chow mutter something but groans and grunts are threatening to escape her mouth and that's just not cool. So she hangs up pronto, hastily throwing her phone away from her.

"Soph," Santana groans, tilting her head back but then forward again. "What are you–"

"You've had a hard week," Sophie cuts in, slipping underneath the waistband of Santana's boxers and making Santana's hips roll upwards as fingers run over her sensitive head. She's quickly drawn into a deep kiss, tongue slipping past and tracing the inside of her mouth before her girlfriend pulls away and presses open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and to her neck.

Truth is, she hasn't really had a hard week. But it's not like she's in a position to argue right now, there's a hand around her cock stroking languidly and a super hot girlfriend sucking the skin of her neck into her mouth. If she were to correct Sophie this might not continue and _fuck that. _She's just going to keep her mouth closed, sit back and relax.

Feeling the button of her pants pop open thanks to nimble fingers, Santana watches her girlfriend intently as Sophie pulls down the fabric of her pants and boxers, releasing her throbbing hard on. It bounces lightly against her clothed stomach, and she feels a wave of satisfaction crash over her as Sophie gasps. She knows she's big. And it's not one of those egotistical things to boost her self-esteem, she really is _big. _Eight inches hard, which is bigger than average, and in the past she was scared she'd hurt her girlfriends or sexual partners, but Sophie's never complained and has told her on multiple occasions that Santana was bigger than all her previous boyfriends. To be honest? That information always makes her just a little big smug.

All thoughts of Sophie's previous boyfriends and smugness shoot straight out her brain as Sophie's hand wraps around her member once more, lightly stroking from bottom to top. Santana, for her part, slips her hand over Sophie's shoulder and down over her chest, cupping at her breast and rubbing a thumb over the hardened peak.

"Damn," Santana groans, surprised that Sophie's already worked up. How long has she been like that? "Eager much?"

Sophie smirks, twists and rises to her knees, leaning forward and supporting herself with one hand as she presses their lips together again, immediately parting Santana's lips with her tongue and stroking softly. It adds to the warm pool spreading in her lower gut and she ignores the fact that Sophie blanked her comment because _shit, _Sophie's working her just right – pinching at the tip and squeezing at the base.

So, she doesn't repeat it and throws her head back, arms slinking across the width of the back of the sofa.

Her girlfriend leans down, replaces her hands with her lips and sucking gently, and Santana just groans and lets her eyes shut.

* * *

><p>Within what feels like a couple of minutes, Santana feels the pressure build to its highest point at the base of her spine, signaling her near ending and groans loudly as she comes in her girlfriend's mouth, tilting her head forward to watch Sophie take every last drop of her and swallowing.<p>

That's something of a turn on Santana, and she almost gets hard just by watching it; but then the door bell rings and she lets out a breath of satisfaction, pinching Sophie's chin and bringing their mouths together in a soft peck before standing up, re-zipping her pants and heading for the door.

A young Asian guy is standing there when she opens it, and for a split second she wonders why the hell she's here; but time just flies by when you're having fun and suddenly it hits her that she ordered Chinese take-out. Rolling her eyes at herself, and smiling when she hears Sophie giggle from the sofa, she shoves her hand inside her pocket and grabs a twenty, handing it over to the guy and taking her food in the plastic bag.

She sits back down on the sofa, leaning over to kiss her girlfriend once more because Sophie hates the taste of Sweet'n'Sour Chicken and refuses to kiss Santana after she eats the stuff. But Mr. Chow's Sweet'N'Sour Chicken is like, to die for, and it's actually kind of worth giving up kissing her girlfriend for it. How bad is that?

Unpacking her dinner, Santana peers to her left and finds her girlfriend tapping away on her cell with great concentration. Cocking a brow, she tries to rise up a little to peer at the screen but Sophie notices too soon, and tilts it to the side, hiding it and turning to Santana with a too-sweet smile.

"You alright, babe?"

Santana squints, but shakes it off and pulls the paper wrapping off her chopsticks. "Yeah. Of course. Sorry."

Sophie just smiles in response and returns to her phone, and Santana shrugs because that was kind of weird, but whatever. She tucks into her chicken, pouring half the pot of noodles into it and begins to devour it, moaning as the food slides down the back of her throat and into her growling stomach. Lately, she barely eats a thing. Sophie's usually still at work or asleep after a (what she calls) long day, and so she never prepares a meal for Santana to come home to. Sometimes, if Santana's lucky, when she gets in the take-out restaurants are still open and she can order from there; but there are days where she comes home at 3am and there's nothing open. And God only knows she can't cook to save her life, so it just means going hungry. Probably why she always stays in shape all the time.

But she's become accustomed to the routine. She's one of the most renowned executives around at the major record label _Millennium Records, _and so what if it's a tough job and usually ends up giving her too-early mornings and too-late nights? She enjoys her job and it pays well. So she'll just have to get through it.

"Are you okay?"

Santana twists around, a noodle hanging out the side of her mouth which earns a giggle. "I'm good, thanks."

"Good."

Sophie returns to her phone and Santana sucks up the noodle, wiping the sauce of her chin before cocking her head to the side. "Oh, Soph, I forgot to say. Thank you for um," her eyes flicker down to her crotch. "You know."

She waggles both eyebrows and winks, which causes Sophie to let out a high-pitched chuckle. Santana's pretty sure that was the second most annoying laugh she'd ever heard, the first going to one Rachel Berry, but she's in love with Sophie. They've been together for under a year and she's already bought the $4000 engagement ring in preparation for tomorrow. _Shit_. She'd forgotten about that. Now she's nervous.

"You don't need to thank me honey," Sophie shrugs. "But it was my pleasure. You seemed like you needed it."

Santana grins and shoves another mouthful of noodle and chicken in her mouth before swallowing and taking a sip of her beer. She doesn't know why, but Brittany pops into her mind and she licks her lips, trying not to smile at the excitement curdling in the pit of her stomach.

"Oh, by the way tomorrow I invited Britt. Hope that's cool." Santana mumbles, eyes trained on Bree Van de Kamp on-screen as Desperate Housewives plays.

Everything's silent for a long moment, and so she pushes aside her half empty Chinese carton and turns to Sophie who's paused, fingers hovering over her Blackberry and eyes staring at the far wall of the living room. Santana reaches over, brushing her girlfriend's hair behind her ear and pulling on her shoulder gently, causing Sophie to look at her. What the hell?

"Soph?"

No response.

"Sophie?"

Still nothing.

"Earth to Sophie?" Santana leans forward, catching a look at the way Sophie's eyes are hazy like she's thinking deeply. She raises an eyebrow. "You're starting to scare me."

Her girlfriend shakes herself out of it and lets her eyes fall on Santana's. "You invited Brittany?" She asks, slightly angrily. "As in your best friend, Brittany?"

Santana nods, feeling slightly uneasy with where this conversation's going. What's wrong with inviting Brittany? "Yeah…"

"Tomorrow," Sophie repeats, voice hardening. "She's coming tomorrow?"

There's something resembling jealously flashing behind Sophie's green eyes and Santana frowns and leans towards her girlfriend, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and then trailing her lips backwards towards her ear. "Is that a problem?"

"No." Sophie responds, pushing Santana away and standing abruptly.

And it's probably the strangest reaction Sophie's ever had to something Santana's said, and she traces over in her mind, trying to find an error in her words. But there's nothing so she stands and snakes her arms around her girlfriend's waist, resting them on the her stomach and resting her chin on a bony shoulder.

"Sophie, what's wrong? Did I do something?"

Sophie pushes out Santana's embrace and turns. She narrows her eyes and raises an eyebrow as she takes not of the infuriated twinge to her girlfriend's green eyes.

"Why did you think of Brittany?"

Santana's face drops. That _really_ hadn't been what she'd expected. "Excuse me?"

"You went from me giving you head–" Sophie snaps, crossing her arms and cocking her hip out to the side. "–To Brittany."

Not seeing the problem, Santana purses her lips and nods. "So?" She draws out the word, _really _not understanding her girlfriend's point.

"_So,_" Sophie mimics in the same way Santana said it. "Does that mean were you thinking of her whilst I was..."

Santana's eyebrows meet her hairline and her mouth drops open as her girlfriend waves her hand down towards her crotch. Involuntarily, a giggle escapes her lips and she finds herself almost doubled over in laughter. It's literally the last thing she thought would've come out of her girlfriend's mouth. No, scratch that. It wasn't even a possibility hanging in the back of her mind and now she's laughing uncontrollably.

"Wha–" Santana chuckles through her words. "What!?"

Apparently it's only amusing on one side because Sophie tightens her biceps and jaw, all seriousness etching across her features. And Santana realizes that, yeah, _shit, _her girlfriend is actually asking her this question. The smile drops from her face and she steps forward, arms out and palms up, head tilting slowly to the side. "You're actually serious, right now?"

"Obviously."

Slowly and cautiously, Santana makes her way over to Sophie and rests both hands on her hips when she gets there. Her fingertips press lightly into the fabric of her girlfriend's shirt, and she pulls their bodies a little closer together. "Babe" –she inwardly cringes– "I was on the phone to Britt earlier. She just popped into my mind."

"Just after getting a blowjob from your _girlfriend?_" Sophie counters, shoving Santana away as her face twists with anger.

And it comes to Santana that yeah, technically speaking, her girlfriend has a point. It was a bit strange that she thought of Brittany after just remembering that her girlfriend went down on her, but, it's harmless. It's not like she was thinking about Brittany _during, _nor was she trying to imagine that it was Brittany doing it. Just that she happened to remember the phone conversation she had with her best friend at a really bad time; a matter of inconvenience, Santana thinks.

Judging by the way Sophie's staring at her though, she needs to answer. _Quickly. _And right now she doesn't know what to say. Her girlfriend's being ridiculous, and that's the bottom line.

So she says just that. "Sophie you're being ridiculous."

"And _you've _been talking about _'Brittany this' _and _'Brittany that' _for five weeks straight!"

Santana rolls her eyes, moving back towards the sofa and throwing herself down on it. She's really not in the mood for an argument. She physically has no energy to start or finish one; _especially _one that she's had countless times. But it's inevitable. She can see it in her girlfriend's eyes and the way Sophie's shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

"I've always been _'Brittany this' _and _'Brittany that' _as you say. She's my best friend and I haven't seen her in a year and a half. You're just being paranoid."

"Exactly," Sophie steps forward. "You haven't seen her in a _year and a half. _It's not like it's been decades, Santana."

"So? For me and Britt it basically is decades! So I'm allowed to talk about her, thank you."

Sophie raises a brow, clearly unamused. "So after tomorrow night, when you see her, you'll stop talking about her?"

There's a challenge being offered right there, and Santana leans up onto her elbows to peer over the back of the couch at her girlfriend. Sure enough, Sophie's standing expectantly, with anger and jealousy radiating off her and it _really _pisses Santana off. Pisses her off more than before being since day one she told Sophie about Brittany. She _told_ Sophie that Brittany was her best friend of seventeen years and Brittany will _always _be at the top of her list. That was one of the first things she ever did with women because that was usually the reason for weirdness in any relationship: the insecurity of the relationship between Brittany and Santana.

So when Sophie throws a tantrum like this, like a little freaking kid, and starts to bitch about Santana and Brittany's relationship, Santana gets really fucking annoyed. She fucking _told _her this. If she had a problem she could've walked away a long time ago.

"Stop being so damn jealous, Sophie," she spits. "You've never even met her."

Sophie's eyebrow raises. "So that's a no, then?" She asks, knowing the answer. "You won't stop talking about her?"

Sighing, Santana swings her legs over the side of the couch and buries her face into her hands. "Sophie... She's my _best _friend," she tells her. _Again. _"She has been for seventeen years and that's not going to change." She lifts her head and focuses her vision on her girlfriend, trying to keep her voice level. Shouting probably wouldn't help right now. "It's never bothered you before and you said you were okay with it."

"Maybe I'm not now."

Santana abruptly stands and balls her fists by her thighs. "And maybe I'm not okay with you not being okay about it, now. I told you Brittany was at the top of my list when we first met and that hasn't changed. I don't get why you're bringing it up now."

Silence comes from her girlfriend and Santana has to close her eyes and turn away to allow some of the anger to drown from her body. She needs to calm down. How did it even get to this? One moment she was coming home, having some intimate time with Sophie and then ordering a take-out, and the next Sophie's yelling her ear off and bringing up things Santana warned her about a long time ago. She just doesn't get it.

It's about two minutes later when Sophie replies, and just by one look at her face, Santana can tell that this is going to be the end of the argument. Especially because it hits her what she said and what that means.

"Is she above me, then?" Sophie asks in that same challenging tone, her whole body tensing when she takes in Santana's immediate facial reaction.

Because Santana's tired of having this argument. She's tired of having to explain her and Brittany's _platonic _yet incredibly close friendship and she's tired of telling Sophie that Brittany's above her on her list because that will _never _change, and it's like Sophie's asking because she wants that to change.

So ,that's why she stares her girlfriend straight in the eye and will all the sincerity in the world says, "Yes. She's above you."

And it has the exact impact she thought, because Sophie's eyes drift away, her jaw clenching tightly in anger and disappointment and then she storms off towards the bedroom, slamming the door loudly. Santana exhales, knowing she's going to pay for that later but feels no regret for telling the truth, and heads towards the bathroom, grabbing a blanket and a pillow from the cupboard, stripping down to her boxers and tank top and settles down on the couch for a very uncomfortable night's sleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning when she wakes, her back aches like a <em>mother. <em>

She stretches her body and rolls her head to rid the kink in her neck, which only happened 'cause the pillow fell off and she ended up craning and resting her neck upon the arm of the couch, and sits up.

That was such a bad night's sleep it was unreal. She could have had a good night's sleep if it weren't for that stupid fight last night. She knows she could've. But she still doesn't regret what she said and even if she's about to go and apologize, she doesn't believe she was in the wrong.

Grudgingly, she pushes up from the sofa, rubs the back of her neck with one hand and pushes up with the other until she's on her feet, heading for the bedroom. It's only 8am, and she could totally fit in another two or three hours sleep as long as Sophie lets her come back to bed. If not, she guesses she'll just have to start the party preparation as there's no way in hell she can sleep on that sofa anymore.

She approaches the door and almost turns away – thinking that this might lead to another argument and with Brittany and Sophie meeting tonight, she doesn't want Sophie to be pissy and to accidentally let it out on Brittany – but then she figures if she goes in now, she could sort it out and they'd be all good for the party tonight. Which is something they need to be considering Santana's plans.

So she sucks it up and brings her fist up to rap on the door a few times. "Sophie?"

No response follows and so she assumes her girlfriend's still asleep, and presses her hand flat against the door to push it open. Like she thought, Sophie's curled up on the right side of the bed, fast asleep, and Santana creeps in quietly, not shutting the door in case it clicks loudly and makes her way to Sophie, perching on the mattress by her hip. She reaches over to brush a lock of hair away from her girlfriend's face and tucks it behind her ear, letting her fingertips linger along Sophie's freckled cheeks.

"Honey, wake up," she whispers.

Sophie stirs and a few seconds later, her eyes crack open to stare up at Santana. It takes another few seconds before the previous night comes back to her girlfriend, and Santana can see the last remnants of anger burning behind Sophie's eyes. So instead of beating around the bush, she dives straight into the apology and slides her hand down to her girlfriends, tangling their fingers together despite Sophie's reluctance.

"I'm sorry," she says, trying to pour fake honesty into her tone. "I was cranky last night."

Sophie's jaw clenches and she shuffles, backing up against the headboard whilst she toys with the back of Santana's fingers. "It's okay," she says, lowly. "I'm sorry, too."

It's relieving, but Santana knows that's not the end. If only things were that easy.

"I didn't mean what I said," she continues.

Sophie's brows furrow. "Which part?"

Santana pushes her tongue up against the inside of her teeth and sorts through her mind, trying to figure out which path would lead to another argument and which would lead up to making up. There is that part of her that doesn't want to lie, because ultimately, Brittany is on top of her list and always will be, despite Sophie being her girlfriend and hopefully, soon-to-be-fiancée. That's something that isn't going to change because Brittany's always been the only consistent and trustworthy thing in Santana's life and it's going to stay that way, regardless of Sophie's objections.

But she knows if she says that it's going to lead to another argument, and she just can't deal with that right now. So she lies.

"_You _are the top of my list."

Sophie's green eyes flicker towards her hesitantly. "What about _Brittany_?"

Santana clenches her jaw against the bitterness in her girlfriend's voice, but smiles up at her girlfriend and just repeats what she said before, "_You _are the top of my list," because it's the only thing she can say that won't start an argument.

A wide grin spreads across Sophie's face and she grins, leaning in to kiss Santana. "Okay. Good."

She smiles into the kiss and feels hands grab at her biceps, pulling until she's falling on top of Sophie and settle between her legs. Sophie seems to want more because her nails scratch down Santana's neck, and Santana's not even entirely sure she can do anything right now. She's so damn tired and even though her hardening member isn't saying the same thing, she's not really up for sex.

"Soph–" she mumbles against Sophie's lips "–Sophie."

Sophie pulls back with a frown and half-hooded eyes, and Santana has to admit, it's kind of a turn on. Involuntarily, her hips press down and bring a hiss out of her girlfriend, and she almost rolls her eyes at herself. Always ruled by her dick and not her head. She's sure that's going to get her in trouble one day.

"I'm not sure I can _perform,_" she says. "I got like no sleep last night."

Sophie studies her for a long moment but then a seductive smirk tugs at her lips and Santana manages to tilt her head to the side to silently question her, but that's as far as she gets before her girlfriend's pushing up and flipping them, throwing a leg either side of her hip and grinding down against the bulge in Santana's boxers. Their lips meet again and hands tug her arms upwards until they're raised above her head, pinned against the pillow as Sophie dips down and starts sucking at her neck.

"That's fine, baby," Sophie mutters against tanned skin. "I'll do all the work."

The arousal is something she just can't fight, and as her mind drifts to the party tonight and the list of things she should probably be doing right now instead of _this, _Brittany suddenly comes to mind and it's like the heat inside her doubles. She grunts, rolling her hips and widens her eyes at her body's reaction to her best friend. But she shakes it off quickly, knowing there's a smoking hot woman on top of her, reaching down beneath the band of boxers and grabbing her, and she puts it down to that.

She considers for a second telling Sophie that they'll have time for that after the party, but then Sophie pulls her panties aside and rubs Santana through the wetness between her legs, and well, Santana's not going to complain. So she steals a quick glance at the alarm on the side to check how long they have before she leans up and presses their lips together whilst one hand comes down between their bodies to guide herself into her girlfriend.

She tries not to focus on the reason the arousal doubled inside of her when she thought of the party tonight.


	2. chapter two

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Two]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>6900

**Notes: **Enjoy!

* * *

><p>It's 8pm, and Santana's up on the roof of her building.<p>

There's a swimming pool to her left, a dance floor in front of her, and a whole lot of people scattered around both areas, brandishing glasses and drinks. Several waiters are moving around the crowd, wearing white shirts and black vests, and the only damn reason they're here is because Sophie insisted on hiring them even though Santana clearly pointed out that she could do their job for free.

(Not that she'd want to but still, that wasn't the point.)

Except Sophie went decided to play dirty – literally – and paused two seconds before Santana was going to blow her load, took her lips away from Santana's cock and smirked, asking if the waiters were a good idea now. Due to the sexual blackmail, and Santana's need to come, she'd just nodded vigorously and pulled Sophie's head back down to resume her previous actions until she got her release.

Although it worked two ways, because when Santana was returning the favor only a few moments later, she took her tongue out from between Sophie's legs and told her how much she wanted a DJ to play at the party, preferably hip-hop as it's her favorite and Sophie had groaned, realized she was just paying her back and gave in to Santana's wishes.

And so what if that was stooping as low as Sophie in terms of sexual blackmail? It worked and now she's standing beside the pool, bobbing her head along to a mash-up of her three friends: Kanye, Eminem and Ludacris.

Oral can go two ways, you know.

Sophie's beside her, looking smoking hot in a tight silver dress that accentuates her feminine assets (mainly her boobs and ass if Santana's honest) and Santana's wearing dark skinny jeans, a black blazer and a cream party top that gives her skin the 'holiday look' to make up for the lack of vacation in the summer just gone.

After she and Sophie wave off two of Santana's colleagues, and point them in the direction of the bar being tended by a tall, dark and handsome bartender, Sophie leans in, lips ghosting over the shell of Santana's ear and whispers, "Is everyone here yet?"

Santana can tell her girlfriend's getting a little impatient but she doesn't know. "I don't know," she shrugs and slides her hand down Sophie's arm, tangling their fingers together and squeezing gently. "How many people were invited?"

"A hundred or so?"

A quick scan of the area and a guesstimate of how many people are already at the party, she turns back to her girlfriend and nods. "I think pretty much everyone is here. Except Britt of course."

Out the corner of her eyes she catches the way something hardens behind Sophie's green eyes, and Santana tugs gently on her hand, pulling their bodies together and nuzzling their noses affectionately. "Honey, don't do that."

"I know, I know," Sophie forces a smile. "Sorry, I'm just nervous I guess."

Santana kisses her girlfriend quickly. "What are you nervous about?

"Meeting Brittany."

Dark eyebrows pull together. "For real? Why?"

Sophie doesn't respond straight away, just peers over Santana's shoulder and puts some space between their bodies as she tugs them towards the drink table by the pool – the one that's not being tended.

"I don't know," she says when they get there, picking up two glasses and setting them in front of Santana. "I guess it's just like the final test. I mean, I've already met your mom and brother–"

"And she liked you," Santana interjects, picking up the bottle of vodka and pouring two shots into each cup.

"Yeah but it's not the same," Sophie says, a little dryly. She reaches for the orange juice carton in the back and opens it, handing it to her girlfriend. "I don't know... I just–Apart from me she's like, the most important person in your life and it's nerve-wracking."

For a few seconds, Santana's mind begins to wander off with that thought. Brittany is actually in fact the only persons opinion she really cares about – bar Sophie's of course. Her parents weren't exactly supportive of her when she came out the flannel infested closet, but she never cared because she didn't really know what they were expecting considering her _situation. _

In her mind she's gone over the possibilities thousands of times, but it's just got to the point where she _can't _give a crap. Her mom isn't a parent to her, and it's a long time gone anyway because she now has more important people in her life. Like Sophie and of course, Brittany.

"...So I guess Brittany's opinion is like... The most important."

Santana manages to hear that last part, and shakes herself out her thoughts to focus on the current conversation. Her eyes drift down to her hand and she finds a cup in her hand, filled with orange juice and vodka and when her eyes slide to the right she finds Sophie sipping on her own. The roof also seems to be more crowded and the music's now a notch louder, and she wonders how long she was out for. At least a few minutes, apparently.

"It's be fine, Soph," Santana reassures, reaching up to cup her girlfriend's cheek with her free hand. "She'll love you."

"How do you know?"

Sophie seems more nervous than Santana ever predicted, and she can't help but wonder if the nerves have come from last night's argument. _No, _that's a stupid idea. It's not possible because that'd mean Sophie's jealous of a person she's never ever met, and it's not even like there's a reason to _be _jealous.

Brittany's not a threat.

_Hell_, she'll probably help Sophie if anything.

So Santana smiles, pecks a quick kiss to Sophie's lips and threads their fingers together again. "Because _I _love you and so she will too."

A grin spreads across Sophie's face and she rocks up, letting their lips meet again but in a kiss that lingers a lot longer than the last one. Neither of them wants to break, and Santana giggles when a soft tongue runs along her bottom lip, knowing she's going to have to put her cup down to keep this kiss up. So she does just that and wraps her arms around Sophie's waist, pulling their hips together and deepening the kiss until a cough interrupts them and forces them to break.

Both their heads turn and find a large muscular figure standing next to them, eyebrows wagging and a glint in his eyes.

"Puck?" Santana breathes, releasing her girlfriend and throwing her arms around her friend. "Shit, you actually came."

Puck chuckles and pulls away, his hands staying on Santana's biceps as he does a once over on his body. "Not yet, but if I look at you a little longer I might."

Disgusted, Santana slugs him in the arm and scoffs. Puck's been her friend for as long as Brittany has, although their friendship hasn't been quite as strong. Nowhere near as strong, actually. She thinks it could be because she chose not to reveal the secret between her legs to him, fearing his reaction, and that sort of made them stay at arms length from each other.

Although there are definitely another few reasons that've occurred over their past that have contributed to their distant friendship. They're ones she doesn't really want to think about though. They're in the past and they're going to stay there.

But they're still good friends. And it's so amusing to watch Puck make a complete fool of himself as he makes suggestive comments about getting into her pants, because if he ever did and actually saw what was in there, his face would definitely be a memorable one.

"Shut up you pervert," she jokes and twists to the side, revealing her girlfriend. "But now I want you to meet my girlfriend, Sophie Bexler." She sends her girlfriend a quick wink and sidles up beside her, throwing an arm around Sophie's waist. "And Sophie, meet the biggest predatory asshole I know: Noah Puckerman."

Sophie and Puck chuckle, and Sophie grins as she offers out a hand. "Please to meet you, Noah," she says and Santana watches Puck's eyes trail over the length of her girlfriend's body, lingering around the chest region.

"No, gorgeous, it's all _my _pleasure," he purrs and Santana tightens her grip around Sophie's waist, not trusting Puck whatsoever.

Except Sophie must find it endearing – God knows why – and giggles at the guy, and then they begin chatting away – small talk about professions and whatnot – and soon enough they get on to the subject of modelling, and Puck tells Sophie how he's one of the senior members of the _Elite Model Management, _one of the most prestigious modelling networks around, and Sophie tells him how much she would like to be a model herself, since being a stock-broker is unsurprising monotonous.

It's not that bad though, because Santana thinks Puck might _finally _come in useful for once.

As they chat, a few more people begin to filter in and Santana notes how rude it is to not greet them as the host and leaves Puck and Sophie to whatever they're conversing about. She manages to catch up on all the new faces and greets each one, kissing some on the cheek and shaking some of their hands, and when she's just about to find the last guest to walk through the door, she feels it.

It's a familiar presence, a warm presence, and she's been able to feel it since she was seven years old. The atmosphere spikes around her, and it makes this ridiculous grin cross over her face because she knows that someone else has arrived. Someone important.

Twisting around, she rocks on to the balls of her feet to scan the crowd, trying to pinpoint the source of that change in the atmosphere.

And that's when she sees her. Right by the door, clutching a bag by her thighs and chewing nervously on her bottom lip.

Santana smiles to herself and breathes out steadily, weaving her way through several people to get to her best friend. It's like a need, and she's never tested how long she can stay away from Brittany but she bets her bottom dollar she wouldn't last ten seconds without the need getting too much, and without her caving in and searching frantically for Brittany.

She gets closer and closer, and the grin on her face grows with the minimising distance. It's been so long since she last saw Brittany, and looking at her now, she can't really believe that she's about to see her. Admittedly, it hasn't been like, a decade or whatever, but it's been a fair eighteen months and in Brittany and Santana terms, that's way too fucking long. A week of not seeing each other feels like a year, so a year and a half is like, well, a decade.

And so now, making her way to Brittany with her eyes firmly locked on to her, Santana's fucking elated.

Brittany's eyes survey the party, and she's yet to notice Santana staring at her from across the pool, but Santana doesn't mind all that much because she allows her gaze to trail down Brittany's body – taking in the sight of her best friend in a short, white dress that hugs Brittany's ass and hands loose around the bust. There's a good amount of cleavage showing, but luckily the loose ringlets in golden hair cascade over the majority of it, so Santana doesn't have to worry about kicking anyone's ass tonight if they're caught ogling her best friend.

Finishing the trail, Santana begins to move again and only stops when she's around two metres away from the girl. Her head tilts to the side and it takes her a long moment to bring herself out of staring – since a year and a half can change a person so much that Santana finds herself basically _drooling _over her best friend – but she can't help but notice the subtle changes in Brittany.

Like the way her blonde hair is a few shades brighter, the way her blue eyes are brighter too, and how there's a weird sense of maturity to her stature. There are physical changes too, like the way her arms are more toned, and how her legs seem longer too, and even though Santana was like, a hundred percent sure it wasn't possible, Brittany's even more beautiful than she was eighteen months ago.

Still not sensing Santana's gaze, Brittany turns her head and for the first time, Santana notices there's someone standing beside her best friend. Her heartbeat quickens as the possibility of a date runs through her mind, but then that's removed promptly when Brittany shifts and Rachel Berry is revealed.

She laughs to herself and shakes her head, feeling her heart return to its natural rhythm and the insults form on the tip of her tongue – because whenever Berry's around that just kind of happens – and her legs begin to move towards Brittany when there's a tap on her shoulder.

She whirls around to find her boss, Gerry, standing directly behind her and her eyes flicker from side to side. What does he want?

"Gerry," she says with a fake cheer to her voice. "I'm glad you could make it."

Her boss, being the jerk he is, completely disregards her greeting and grabs a champagne flute off one of the passing waiters, sipping on it with his stubble covered mouth. He really is one of the most disgusting men Santana's ever seen.

"Santana..." Gerry starts, sniffling and clears his throat noisily. "I hear you've been looking for some new meat to sign?"

She nods, but it's mostly out of politeness because she doesn't really give a shit what her boss is talking about. She's so focused on the buzzing need to find her best friend that only one of her ears is trained on him, whilst all her other senses are locked onto finding Brittany.

"Well–" Gerry shoves his thick, meaty hand deep into his pocket and fumbles with the fabric nearing his crotch. He makes a low, gutteral sound and Santana almost pukes right then and there, knowing he probably just brushed his hand against his cock or something.

Seriously, she doesn't get that whole fiddling with your bits thing, because she's got a dick and never once in her entire life has she ever felt the need to stick her hand in her pocket and check it's like, still there. She can't even begin to think about how many men she's seen walking down the street with their hands in their pockets, obviously fiddling around with their junk in plain sight. Fucking seriously, it's gross.

Her brain manages to cut off the little rant at the same time her boss goes quiet, and it hits her that she has absolutely no idea what he was just talking about or why he's staring at her expectantly. _Shit. _Why doesn't she ever pay attention?

"Definitely, Sir." She goes for an easy response, hoping it's the right one. "If you get a memo to Jenny then I'll sort that right out."

There's a few tense seconds, which feel like _hours, _where Santana wonders if she just made herself look like a complete tit, but then Gerry puffs out, releasing some cigar smoke she didn't know he was holding and smiles, revealing yellow, plaque covered teeth that only add to the curdling need to vomit inside of Santana.

And as she nods, and her eyes lock on to the golden band wrapped around his sausage like finger, Santana feels a pang of sympathy for his wife.

"Good, Lopez. I'll see you Monday."

Gerry turns, resting his free hand on his extending stomach whilst the other, clutching a thick, Cuban cigar reaches out to grab a few snacks on a passing food platter. And Santana takes this moment to dart away, ditching her boss in favor of a quick escape from the world's most disgusting boss, and begins her search for her best friend once more.

It doesn't take long, because her eyes drift over to the bar immediately and Brittany's there, perched on one of the stools with one of her long legs crossed over the other, revealing the smooth skin of her bare thigh. Her elbow's resting on the bar top, and her chin's in her hand and Santana has to admit, her best friend seems kind of bummed out. It makes Santana's heart clench and she walks over there, watching the handsome bartender finish wiping one of the glasses before throwing the rag over his shoulder and approaching Brittany, palms resting on the counter top with the upper half of his torso leans towards Brittany.

If she didn't know any better she'd think the bartender was about to hit on her best friend.

"What are you drinking, beautiful?" The bartender asks, and Santana raises a brow, picking up the speed of her steps until she's sliding in beside her best friend, one arm wrapping around the small of Brittany's back whilst the other curls on top of the bar, hand waving around carelessly.

"Um, that'll be a Perfect Ten for my best friend here," Santana says, cutting in on Brittany's answer.

Brittany doesn't even need to look at her to know who it is and smirks, keeping eye contact with the bartender. "And a Ketel One Martini up with a twist for _my _best friend."

A pressure lifts of Santana's chest as Brittany hops down from the stool, and Santana eyes the way her best friend tugs at the bottom of her dress to keep it from riding up. She smiles quickly, but it's quickly replaced by the feeling of warmth as Brittany steps into her personal space, and it hits Santana just how much she's missed her best friend. And now that she's back, it feels like a missing piece of Santana's puzzle has been returned back to where it belongs.

"You better hug me," Santana says, sounding like she's joking but knowing she's not.

Brittany chuckles and steps into Santana's arms as she opens them, and then they're hugging tightly, pale arms winding around Santana's neck and tanned arms slipping around the blonde girl's waist. The overflowing scent of honey and almond wafts through Santana's nostrils, and she feels her entire body relax because Brittany's here. Brittany's back, in her arms, and she's burying her face into Santana's shoulders, giggling as Santana squeezes their bodies together closely.

"As if I wouldn't," Brittany counters, squeezing one last time before pulling away, leaving her palms of Santana's biceps.

Santana does the same, but the grip's on her best friend's waist, and she applies the lightest of pressures through her fingertips as her eyes rake over Brittany's body once more. From far away Brittany was attractive, but up close she's stupidly gorgeous. So much so that Santana can actually feel her pants getting that bit tighter and she's in the middle of a freaking _party. _Not to mention that it's due to her best friend and that she has a girlfriend.

Nope, that's not bad at all.

"You look _so _good, Britt-Britt," Santana says, trying to distract herself from the way she's pressing up against her boxers.

A blush covers pale cheeks, and Brittany dips her head down, tugging her bottom lip between white teeth whilst she subtly does a once over on Santana. For a second Santana panics, fearing she's showing through her jeans, but then she thinks how obvious it'd be if she took a quick peek and checked.

Honestly, there are _so _many complications to having a dick.

"You look better, Santana."

The smile on Santana's face falls as she hears her best friend speak so softly. So honestly.

She peers up through her lashes, staring deeply into Brittany's eyes because she sees something. Something she can't quite figure out; which is strange because she's always, _always _been able to tell what Brittany's thinking or feeling at any given moment. It's something she prides herself on and now there's this weird tension settling in the atmosphere around and she can't quite figure out _why _it's doing that.

It gets so strange and so heavy, that she doesn't even notice as her hands begin to fall from Brittany's waist, and slip down towards her hips. She doesn't even notice Brittany's arms falling slack on her arms too because she's so engorged in the way Brittany's trying to tell her something with her eyes that everything else is dull and blurry around her.

That's quickly broken though when a warm pair of arms slip around her neck, and hands clutch at her chin, twisting it until she's pulled in for a kiss. A soft pair of lips press against her own, and it takes a second to recognize them – because it's Sophie obviously – and she kisses back briefly before pulling away, still very aware of the fact that Brittany's standing in front of them.

"There you are!" It's said in false anger, and Santana chuckles a little. "Babe, seriously, how could you leave me with Puck! He's such a dirty pig! He was talking about how hot a sex sandwich between me, you and him would be, as long as he was the filling!"

Santana grins and snakes her arms around her girlfriend's waist, pulling her close. It gets Sophie's attention because suddenly she's staring down at her quizzically and Santana can only offer a head tilt towards Brittany...

…Who's sucking on her bottom lip and looking all kinds of uncomfortable.

Santana's smile falters, but she shakes it off, knowing how uncomfortable it would be if she was in Brittany's position too, and addresses her girlfriend. "Sophie, I'd like you to meet someone special..."

Sophie's eyes focus on Santana for a long moment before they finally dart away, flicking to Brittany. Realization flashes across her face and she spins to face Brittany, face brightening up into a smile. "Oh my God!" She half-yells. "Is this Brittany?" She asks Brittany, but she's focused on Santana. "As in _the _Brittany? Oh my! I've heard so much about you!"

The thing that Santana forgot to mention to Brittany when inviting her to this party was the whole Sophie thing. She didn't tell her that she had a girlfriend, and had done for quite a while now. She forgot to mention that and now Brittany's stealing a quick glance that says _you haven't told me about her _before the polite switch flicks on and she's grinning wildly at Sophie, taking the offered hand and shaking it.

"I can't believe you're here!" Sophie continues, excitedly. "I can't believe I'm finally meeting you! I've been looking _so _forward to it!"

There's laughter coming from both Brittany and Santana, yet there's something wholly awkward about the entire situation. She doesn't know why, it's not like Brittany's never met any of her previous girlfriends, but she thinks it might have something to do with the fact that she not only forgot to tell Brittany about Sophie, but that she had an argument with Sophie over Brittany about who was more important.

"Sorry," Sophie says, trying to calm down. "It's just so good to meet you, I've heard so much."

Brittany's eyes flicker to Santana again, and Santana can't help but feel uneasy about the situation. But Brittany's always been the one to save Santana and smiles anyway, obviously wanting to say the same thing back but knowing she can't. It makes Santana's chest pang with quick and she crinkles her nose against it as Sophie's arm hugs her waist tightly.

"Well hopefully it's not all too bad," Brittany jokes with a forced cheeriness that only Santana would be able to pick up on.

Although for some reason she decides not to notice, and instead focuses on scanning around the party as Sophie and Brittany continue to converse for a few moments. Over in the corner of the party, by the untended bar, she sees Rachel dancing away with a guy, and when she twists around, Santana recognizes the guy to be Puck and can't help but chortle a little. That would be just hilarious to see.

She tunes back in to the conversation going on beside her, apparently at the wrong moment because Sophie and Brittany are talking about their dresses.

"I just can't compete with you in that dress," Brittany comments, standing back and gesturing to Sophie's silver dress.

But Sophie cocks a brow and presses both hands to her hips. "As if, Brittany. You're beautiful."

Santana catches the way Sophie's gaze lingers a little longer over Brittany's body than a once over is supposed to, and Brittany shoots her a quick curious glare, noticing too.

That's another thing Santana loves about Brittany; they both notice things that no-one else does.

"Something Santana never thought to mention to me," Sophie lets out, and it sounds like she's a little jealous.

The air around them suddenly seems quite hot, and Santana's throat thickens as she tries to swallow against it. She thought not mentioning how hot Brittany was a good thing, because it meant that Santana didn't notice. Although now as she repeats the tone of her girlfriend's voice over and over, she thinks that maybe that wasn't such a good idea. It could have meant that she did notice, and was obviously so aware of it that if she did mention it, Sophie would go off on one about Santana thinking someone else was hotter than she was.

No that she thinks Brittany's hotter than Sophie or anything.

Either way, though, she knows she wouldn't have won whether she told Sophie about Brittany's beauty or not.

"I, uh, guess it never came up," she lands on, shrugging and trying to seem as cool as possible.

Sophie doesn't relax, but Santana doesn't have time to make a joke about it or anything before hands are grabbing the lapels of her blazer and pulling her forward into a lingering kiss that last a lot longer than appropriate when in front of someone else. She kisses back, not wanting to reject Sophie but half-way through it, her eye cracks open and she peers at Brittany who's looking around the party with zero interest and clearly trying to disengage from the awkwardness of seeing two people make out right in front of her.

Santana pulls back first, and she watches Sophie cock her head to the side and grin quickly.

"I've gotta go and see Mark about work on Monday," her girlfriend says and kisses her once more before spinning off, touching Brittany's arm and shooting her a grin that says _nice to meet you _instead of works. Santana's not sure Sophie was glad to meet her. Not after that kissing stunt she just pulled.

"She seems... nice," Brittany says, sliding back on to the stool she was previously occupying.

Santana picks up her drink, nods at the bartender with a _put it on my tab _look and takes a long sip. "Yeah... She's pretty amazing," she says, leaning against the bar and watching Sophie as she makes her way through the crowd, laughing and grinning with a few people.

"Amazing?"

"Yeah."

Brittany's face is showing nothing but shock, even as she brings the rim of her glass to her lips and tips it back. "That's not a word I've heard you describe any of your girlfriends before."

Santana's heart flutters as she thinks that no, she hasn't ever described anyone else like that. Apart from Brittany of course, but that's because she is an amazing best friend. "Well Sophie isn't like any of the others."

"Really?"

She glances up to catch Brittany fiddling with the hem of her dress and brings her eyebrows together. "Yeah. Are you okay?"

"Of course," Brittany responds, maybe a little _too _quickly.

Santana shifts but doesn't press on anymore. Her mind begins to wander and she starts to think about Brittany's words. Sophie isn't like anyone she's ever met, and she is amazing. There's something that's a little off about her best friend's reaction to her girlfriend, but it won't stop her from proceeding with the plans she's already made for tonight.

Four months. That's all it took to fall in love with Sophie, and Santana knew after one night when she was lying in bed, running her fingers up and down her girlfriend's back that she wanted that. Just that, with Sophie. Forever.

Which is why her left blazer pocket feels like a million tonnes right now.

Except as she stands here, one hand resting inside said pocket, fingers trailing around the box, she wonders how she's going to tell Brittany. _Not _telling her about having a long-term girlfriend was crappy all by itself, but leaving out the fact that's she's going to _propose? _That'd be a really shitty thing to do.

And there's not like there's a reason she shouldn't tell Brittany about it, right? Even standing here right now, she's not sure why she didn't tell Brittany about _dating _Sophie.

Knowing she'll have to get it over and done with, she inhales deeply and purses her lips into an 'o' shape, blowing the air out her lungs at the same time she shuffles forward, closing in on her best friend. She glances at Brittany hesitantly, worrying her teeth between her bottom lip and fingers the edge of the small, velvet box in her pocket. Her heart's pounding like, a mile a minute and there's a light layer of sweat forming on her brow.

_Fuck. _She's nervous.

Like, _really _nervous.

For some reason though, she doesn't feel nervous about the proposing itself. But she has no idea what else it could be so she rids the thoughts from her mind and curls her hand around the box inside her pocket, pulling it out.

"Hey, Britt?" She whispers, twisting her body and passes the box in her hands so it settles in her other palm. "I wanna show you something."

Without glancing up at her best friend, she shifts at an angle to make sure Sophie can't see her body from wherever she is, and flips the lid open, revealing a sparkling silver band with a large diamond encrusted on the top. She takes in a deep breath and looks up, watching blue eyes zone on to it immediately, Brittany's mouth gaping open as her head ducks and twists like she can't quite tell what's going on. Santana was expecting her to be speechless and shocked, but she wasn't sure herself what she was going to say to continue the conversation so she just waits.

"Is that what I think it is...?" Brittany asks, tentatively, looking up through long lashes.

Santana's eyes drift back to the ring. "Yeah," she mumbles, voice low. "I'm thinking about doing it tonight."

"What!?"

She snaps the box shut and shoves it back in her pocket, straightening up and flexing her back because she can feel the tension building up in her muscles due to the nerves she feels. Brittany leans forward and stares incredulously at Santana, and Santana's not sure why she's being stared at like this. Isn't proposing a good thing? Shouldn't Brittany be happy for her?

Sure, it's a lot to take for Brittany. Not only is she finding out that Santana has a long-term girlfriend, but she's also finding out she's proposing to a woman Brittany's only just met.

Santana shouldn't feel bad though. She shouldn't. So what if she's been spending years having one night stands, and then suddenly finds a woman that makes her happy? That's what happens, right? That's how people get married, and yeah, it might be a little soon because she and Sophie haven't known each other for that long, but it's love.

So why does she feel guilty?

"Are you serious?" Brittany asks, like she needs to hear it again.

Santana feels a tightness in her chest and almost rolls her eyes at it. Her eyes roam around the party, landing on Sophie who's just inside the glass doors leading to the toilets, chatting away to the guy Santana guesses is Mark – she won't lie she doesn't pay much attention to Sophie's job – and suddenly the tightness in her chest becomes more than overwhelming. Her heart is throbbing loudly against her ribcage and her teeth are biting so hard into her bottom lip she's sure she could draw blood.

"Uh," she clears her throat. "Yeah. Tonight. I'm doing it," she confirms, eyes drifting back to Brittany.

"But, San..." Brittany shifts in her seat, seeming unsure. "You've known her for like... five minutes?"

There's a split second where Santana thinks she sees jealousy flashing across her best friend's face, but then it's gone and Brittany's staring at her, blinking away and giving her that _duh _expression that always makes Santana want to laugh. _Great_, Santana thinks. She's so nervous now she's actually hallucinating.

"I know, Britt," she breathes out, smoothing out her forehead. "I know I haven't known her for that long but... She's the one." She begins to nod, to herself or to Brittany, she's not sure. "She's my lobster."

Brittany's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. "She's your _lobster? _Seriously?"

It's a long running thing they have between them, the whole lobster thing.

Back when they were both sixteen, they were lounging around on the couch watching re-runs of _Friends _when the episode with the prom video came on, and it included Phoebe convincing Ross that Rachel is his lobster. That'd led to Brittany nudging Santana in the thigh with her bare foot and asking if she believed in lobsters.

Santana had laughed and told her that yeah, she did because her brother went to the West Indies and caught some huge ass lobster, but then Brittany had whined through a laugh and said that she meant the _Friends _kind of lobster. The one where each person had someone they were destined to be with. Had a person that was their lobster since it was fact that lobsters fall in love and mate for life, then apparently walk around their tank with their claws locked because they're never going to part.

And up until now, Santana never really thought about it because she didn't believe in the whole soul mates thing. But now Sophie's here and she's sure it's true.

"Yeah, Britt," she says after a low chuckle, scratching her eyebrow. "She's my lobster."

Blue eyes widen for a long moment, then return to normal size as Brittany smiles and takes a deep breath, head bobbing in approval. "Wow," she says, finishing off her drink and pointing with the hand clutching the empty glass towards Sophie, who's still behind the glass doors talking to Mark. "Go get your girl, then."

Santana bares her teeth and grins excitedly, and Brittany laughs at her lightly before urging her towards her soon-to-be-fiancée. She stumbles over a little bit, grinning when she hears her best friend laughing at her and pushes down the nerves, straightening up and walking sensibly towards her girlfriend.

It only takes about twenty seconds of walking to get to her, but that twenty seconds is filled with the strange nagging feeling in the back of her mind, telling her _not _to propose. That's just cold feet though, right? Yeah. She supposes it is, so she pushes it down and smiles when Sophie dismisses Mark in favor of her, and kisses her chastely in greeting.

She pulls the strands of hair out her face and sucks in a shaky breath, trying desperately not to focus on the fact that Brittany's most definitely watching her right now. Tentatively, she reaches into her pocket and picks out the box, her hand shaking with nerves as the fingers on her free hand move to the lid. She doesn't even look up to gauge Sophie's expression as she opens it, fearing it'll be too much and overwhelm her to the point where she faints or pretends to do something else.

Sophie gasps loudly, and brown eyes finally flicker up to see her girlfriend grabbing her own face in complete shock, palms pressing into her cheeks and mouth opens and eyes wide. Santana twists the box around, offering it out and then lets a smile grace her face as her eyes flicker to Brittany who nods and her and gives her a sucked-in-lips smile that doesn't really seem that genuine.

The focus doesn't stay on that too much though since Sophie lurches forward, throwing herself into Santana and repeating yes over and over again. Santana's not even sure she asked the question, but she's too damn relieved with the knowledge that she wasn't rejected rushes through her and she hugs back her girl–no,_ fiancée_–__and pulls back to push the ring up Sophie's fourth finger.

She feels like there should be some sort of celebration going on around her, fireworks or firecrackers even, but there isn't and she just pulls Sophie back into her arms, and lets her girlfriend bury her face into the crook of her own neck as they embrace each other.

It's then that she makes the mistake of glancing around and meeting familiar blue eyes that immediately bore into her own. She gulps against a thickening throat, listening to her mind repeat _you're engaged, you're engaged _over again and wonders why she isn't jumping up and down with elation because she's sure she should be. Hell, even Brittany's staring at her like she's wondering why she isn't bouncing up the walls, and Santana can't think of any explanation apart from shock.

Yeah, that's it. It must be shock preventing her from feeling all the excitement Sophie clearly is.

"I love you," Sophie mumbles, peppering kisses around Santana's face and finishing with one final one right on the mouth. She pulls back, holding her hand out in front of her and admires the ring, head tilting to the side and a breath sigh escaping her mouth. "And I love this. It's _so _beautiful, Santana."

Santana forces a smile and shrugs. "Just like you, Soph," she gets out, dryly. What the hell is wrong with her?

Although it seems Sophie's too caught up in the buzz she feels to notice Santana's tone and giggles, leaning forward to kiss her again before basically sprinting back into the party and finding Catalina, Sophie's best friend, and thrusting her hand in front of her face.

Santana just stands behind the glass doors, one hand inside her pants pocket whilst the other one comes up to rub at the back of her neck, and she exhales slowly, trying to figure out why the happiness isn't sinking in immediately.

It will though, she's sure of it. Once the shock has passed she'll be over the fucking moon.

Her eyes drift to Brittany but her best friend's chatting away to the bartender, throwing her head back and laughing and doesn't notice the look being shot her way.

Santana chews on her bottom lip and shakes it off, before wandering back into the party and rejoining the party.


	3. chapter three

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Three]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17**  
>Word Count: <strong>8900

* * *

><p>The rest of the night went off with a bang.<p>

Santana spent ninety percent of it walking around with Sophie, hand in hand, showing off the big diamond encrusted ring to all her friends and receiving the same responses, consisting of '_awww' _or '_how did you do it?' _And after a while the questions just got tedious, and Santana managed to sneak away and spend the rest of the night chatting away with Brittany over Perfect Ten's and Ketel One Martini's.

However all good things come to an end, and everyone started flooding out by about 2am. There hadn't been a set time to finish, but apparently everyone had the same idea, or, you know, people are just sheep and followed the crowd. Santana thought the second was more likely. It's not like she didn't like the people from the party, it's just if she could, she wouldn't spend more than two hours in their company, apart from Brittany's of course, but it was mostly Sophie's party, and what Sophie wants, Sophie gets. Kind of like Brittany in a strange way.

Brittany was the last to go, after insisting she helped clean up whilst Rachel was slumped over in the corner, passed out after downing three shots of vodka and having a beer or two. Brittany had said she'd always been a lightweight. Sophie had claimed she was tired and was heading to bed after the last guest left, bar Brittany, so Santana had grabbed two bin liners, handed one to Brittany and they'd got started on the cleaning.

But by 3:30am, they were both exhausted, and it seemed the roof wasn't going to get any cleaner without daylight to see where the rubbish was – so they said decided that was enough for the night. Santana insisted they stay over, but having a new apartment and all, Brittany wanted to settle in. So after dragging the dead weight of Rachel Berry, which was surprisingly heavy, to a cab, they departed with a hug and a kiss to the cheek.

And that's how Santana ends up here, sprawled out on the couch, feeling half dead. She looks to the clock above the TV and see's it's 4am. Her mind and body have different ideas of where she should sleep, her mind saying the couch, and her body saying the bed.

It's not like last night where she wasn't _allowed_ to sleep in the bed, she just doesn't have the willpower or strength to get up since she flopped down on the sofa. She can be a lazy shit sometimes, but even the thought of getting up was painful.

Then again, sleeping on the couch might start another argument with Sophie and so she somehow manages to push up from the couch and pads her way down the hallway to the bedroom. When she gets there, she strips off all her clothes, leaving herself in a bra and boxers and face-plants into the mattress.

Damn, entertaining people is hard work. But she doesn't really mind, it's been such a long time since she's seen most of their faces, well, since she's seen Brittany's face, and it was amazing just being able to catch up with her. She'd never tell Sophie, but she misses Brittany, like _so_ much, and no doubt if she ever told her fiancée that, she'd flip and Santana would be sleeping on the couch for a few weeks. Since when was a lesbian not allowed to be _best friends_ with a bisexual?

"Babe?" Sophie stirs, her arm lazily flinging over Santana's back. "Are you okay?"

Santana groans and says a muffled _yes _into the pillow. Sophie giggles and rolls over, pressing a kiss to Santana's bare shoulder as her fingertips graze lightly over the small of her back.

"Did you have a good night?" Sophie murmurs, leaving trails of kisses up Santana's shoulder to her neck, where she nips at the skin lightly.

"So much my—" Santana pauses and rolls over, tucking one arm underneath the pillow and leaving the other to drape over Sophie's midsection. _"_—Beautiful _fiancée_."

Green eyes sparkle, even in the darkness and Santana leans in to press a chaste kiss to Sophie's lips. She pulls back, but the other brunette follows, crushing their lips together once more and lightly scratching up Santana's bare ribs. As much as the party was fun, she's pretty much been looking forward to this part of the night where she gets to have crazy, engagement sex with one of the most beautiful women she's ever seen. Her member starts hardening as a tongue grazes against her bottom lip and she groans. It's an immediate reaction, Sophie's tongue is just so damn soft and ugh, the things she can do with that thing…

"Hmm," Santana hums into the other woman's mouth. "Is this the part where you reward me for proposing with amazing sex?" She teases, sticking her tongue out.

Sophie grins, nods and kisses her way down Santana's jawline, nipping at the bone before trailing her way to an earlobe, where she sucks lightly. A shot of arousal bottoms out in the pit of Santana's stomach and she feels her fiancée's hand glide down her chest, running along the expanse of her uncovered flesh and down her toned abs. A finger runs along the inside of boxers waistband, and she cups Sophie's face, bringing their lips back together in a soft, gentle kiss.

When a thumb hooks into the waistband of her boxers, she smirks and sees the aroused glint in her fiancée's eye and winks, causing both of them to start giggling as Sophie slowly glides her hands down Santana's legs, ridding her of the piece of clothing and allowing her cock to spring free against her toned abs.

Sophie swings her legs over Santana's hips and straddles her, rubbing her covered center up and down the length of Santana's shaft and pressing down when the swollen tip hits her covered clit. Santana moans and her hands shoot to her fiancée's hips, rubbing her thumb in a circular motion as she moves in rhythm with Sophie's grinds. Her eight inches is standing to attention as her fiancée sits back on her thighs and allows her hands to trail down her abs once more, leaving her thumb to brush over the bottom of her shaft before biting her lip and looking at Santana straight in the eye.

It reminds Santana of their first time together, where Sophie seemed to dominate her in every way, and she could literally do nothing but stay still. In the relationship she'd grown to accept that she was the one with the pants, so to speak, but when it came to sex, Sophie seemed to take the top role and do whatever she wanted. Not that Santana complained; her fiancée definitely knew what she was doing and that night was fucking _incredible._

Sophie leans down, moving her hips up and down as she tickles the tip of Santana's swollen cock with her fingers, grazing lightly. In some ways, Santana hates it when she does that, most because it's teasing and there's certain times where she just wants to get down and dirty, pronto.

And one of those times is now.

"Babe… You're so hard," Sophie whispers seductively as she grasps the base of Santana's cock.

Not wanting to wait any longer, tanned hands find the hem of Sophie's top and tug it upwards. With a quick swipe, the top flies off into the bedroom and the green-eyed brunette returns to grinding in circular motions. Santana arches her chest, and sits up, running her hands down Sophie's back until she reaches her ass and squeezes as her lips meet the base of Sophie's neck.

"Hmm," Sophie hums in appreciation, tilting her neck to allow Santana more room. Santana feels hands tangle into her dark locks, and her face being pressed further as her full lips meet the jugular of her fiancée's neck and sucks hard. A groan escapes the other woman's lips and needing more friction, she starts lifting Sophie's body, grinding upwards as her cock is in between their bodies, pressed against both of their stomachs.

She's impatient, and she's building up before even started; so she releases one hand and slides it between their bodies, pulling Sophie's panties to the side and running a single fingertip through wet heat. The sensation almost makes her want to come right there and then, but instead she grabs her member and pushes Sophie back, Sophie gripping the sheets beside her knees and running it along the length of her slit so the uncovered head hits her fiancée's clit. They both groan together before Sophie crashes their lips together in a series of fierce, sloppy kisses and soon enough, Santana finds herself being pushed back by the shoulders so she's lying flat on her back. Apparently the dominance is back.

Sophie makes quick work of her panties, bra and Santana's too, and climbs back on, straddling Santana completely naked. The image of her girlfriend naked, and sitting on top of her almost sends Santana over the edge, but she focuses on _not _coming as her cock twitches with arousal at the sight. She needs more, but instead of doing anything, she props herself up on her elbows and stares at her girlfriend, her eyes filled with unbridled lust.

She doesn't know how much more she can take as Sophie begins to run her hands up and down Santana's chest, so she pouts her lips, begging for a kiss which is received and cups her fiancée's sex in the palm of her hand. A steady pace is set, and Sophie tweaks one of her own nipples, whilst the other hand continues to run the length of Santana's toned abs.

Santana's getting closer to her release, not even having been inside the other girl yet and she so thrusts upwards, bumping Sophie's clit with the tip of her cock and silently asking for permission to get on with it. Sophie grins down at her at the motion and reaches over to the side table, taking out a condom and tearing it open with her teeth. As much as she's glad that she's finally going to be having sex after about a week of going without it—due to _female problems_—she'd always wanted to have sex without protection. But apparently Sophie was always reluctant as the contraceptive pill is only effective 99% of something, and so despite them being together for nearly a year, the woman's stubborn, and so condom it is.

"Please," Santana begs, biting her bottom lip in anticipation as Sophie slowly rolls the condom over the tip of her cock. "Soph…"

Sophie smirks and lifts herself up slightly, positioning Santana's hard member at her entrance. With one quick movement, Santana slides herself smoothly into her and moans as Sophie hovers about three-quarters of the way down her dick. It takes everything she has not to thrust completely into her fiancée—since Sophie had told her once it wasn't as enjoyable because of Santana's large size—but she isn't going to complain; sex is sex.

Their eyes lock and Sophie bites her bottom lip, moving her hips in a circular motion and grinding slowly, making herself groan. Santana grips tighter on to her fiancée's waist and spreads her legs a bit wider, wanting a little more depth. She's so close already, all the build-up and tension is multiplying in the pit of her stomach, and she can already feel the pressure building too high in her spine.

"You're so…" A few pants pause Sophie's sentence as her eyes flutter. "You're so big—_Fuck."_

Sophie leans forward a bit, and starts bouncing up and down on Santana's cock, making sure not to push in all the way and repeating the same rhythm as her mouth drops open when Santana hits _the _spot.

"Hmph," Santana grunts, feeling the tip of her cock hit something deep within Sophie. "Shit, you're _so _good."

Santana can feel a bead of sweat form on her brow and runs her fingertips and down her fiancée's ribs, marveling at the soft skin under her touch and matching the rhythm Sophie's creating. She tries to slow the pace to make them last longer, but it seems her fiancée is on a mission because she just quickens it instead, and Santana pulls Sophie down by the nape of her neck, to suck at the pulse point on her neck whilst she continues to pound into the woman above. Hands grip at shoulders, at breasts, and soon enough, Sophie starts to shake violently, slowly coming undone.

"Oh…" Sophie groans, tipping her head back. "Santana…"

With a few more thrusts, Sophie arches her back and pushes up, cupping her own breasts as she slowly rotates her hips and Santana can feel the tip of her cock twitching as the build-up slowly releases. As soon as Sophie closes her eyes, Santana feels her cock being clenched as her fiancée's orgasm hits her, the walls tightening around her shaft and sending her over the edge with her. She hears her name being screamed and she quickly grips Sophie's hips as she pushes in twice more and lets herself go into the condom, groaning at the sensation of warmth spreading inside the protection.

As she comes, she looks up and see's Sophie tweaking her own nipples, and a sense of dissatisfaction runs through her. It's not like the sex wasn't good—because fuck, sex with Sophie is _always _good—but there's it seems like Sophie was just on a mission to get herself off, and not to get Santana off, too.

But it doesn't matter, she supposes; there's going to be plenty more times. They'll have years together to practice together so one time isn't going to mean anything.

Although, thinking about that, she can't fight how strange it is to think that the woman she just had sex with, is the woman she's going to be having sex with _forever. _It's the woman she's going to marry, to share a bed with, and _fuck, _now she's panicking.

Fear sets in, hard and fast, and she widens her eyes as Sophie's limp body falls on top of her, heavy breaths beating against her neck. She feels her own chest moving rapidly up and down, transporting the movement directly on to the girl above, whose mouth is currently pressing kisses to the base of her neck and suddenly she's very aware of the fact that _this _is what she's going to have for the rest of her life.

After a couple of minutes of allowing their orgasms to fade, their breathing patterns return to normal and Santana wraps her arms around her fiancée, pulling herself out as she rolls Sophie off of her. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion and she pulls up the covers, covering both their bodies and starts thinking about the future. Her head rolls and eyes fall upon the woman next to her, who's staring at her through hooded eyes, just watching.

Sophie's her future wife. The woman she's going to spend the rest of her life with. Her eyes zoom into the sparkling band on her fiancée's hand which is grazing up and down Santana's covered stomach, dancing along the toned abs showing through the thin sheet.

"What you thinking about?" Sophie asks, snuggling closer and resting her head on Santana's shoulder. "You seem deep in thought."

Santana throws an arm over the other woman, pulling her closer and lacing their fingers with the other hand, to rest on top of her stomach. "The future."

"Future of what?"

Santana narrows her eyes and giggles lightly. "Us, obviously. Why? What future were you thinking about?"

Pale fingers start playing with tanned ones and Santana looks around the room, looking at the several pictures darted around the room. She misses the wide eyes her girlfriend has in reaction to her question, and continues to stare.

There's a picture of Brittany and her in high school in their graduation caps, and then another of her and Brittany asleep on the couch, Santana being the big spoon and Brittany being the little one. Her mom had taken it one day after school when they had a nap one time, and it'd remained her favorite pictures ever. Of course, as soon as she'd shown Sophie the picture and told her that, another argument rose.

Her heart sinks slightly as she starts to think about her best friend. They've always been close, and over the past year and a half, they've grown apart. She always put it down to work, but truthfully, she knew that relationships always got in the way of friendships, and Sophie had ultimately been the one taking up Santana's time, which meant less time with Brittany.

Up until now, she's never really considered the effects of marriage when it comes to her and Brittany's friendship. Since dating had caused them to grow apart, would marriage rip them completely apart? Maybe that was the reason for Brittany's slight reluctance to the announcement of her proposing to Sophie earlier on. It was obvious that the blonde wasn't ecstatic about it, and maybe it's because she knows better than Santana that marriage could possibly ruin their friendship.

A dull throb aches inside her chest and she feels her eyes welling up at the thought. It's not fair.

_Why can't life just be simple?_

Santana feels a fingertip graze over her brow, and it breaks her out of her thoughts. She looks down to see Sophie staring at her quizzically, one eyebrow raised and lips pursed. "Seriously, what are you thinking about?"

Brittany's name hovers on the end of her tongue, but then she thinks about last night's argument and she swallows the name. "Like I said, the future."

Green eyes study her for a second, and she watches the indecision to question her answer flicker behind them. "Okay."

Santana rolls her head back, tickling her fingertips along her girlfriends bicep with the hand connected to the arm thrown over her shoulder and starts her thoughts again. She presses a quick kiss to Sophie's hair as an arm is thrown across her stomach, pressing their bodies together and slowly closes her eyes in hope of sleep.

Well, that's until she hears Sophie cough.

"You alright?"

Sophie nods against her shoulder and laces their fingers together. "Yeah. Catalina's throwing me a wedding shower on Monday. I said it was a bit soon but I don't mind. Means more presents."

"Monday? That's kinda soon?"

She feels Sophie shrug, well as much as she can under the current position. "She said she had an inkling you were gonna propose."

Santana hums as her fingers trail over pale skin in a circle. "Oh, right. Weird."

"Yeah," Sophie exhales the word. "I invited Brittany by the way, hope you don't mind."

Santana stops her motions and pauses, slowly letting her eyes drift down to look at Sophie. She invited Brittany? What the hell? "What?"

"I invited Brittany to the wedding shower," the other girl replies. "That's okay, right?"

Once again, Santana pauses. Sure, it's okay, but that's not really what's really getting to her. Why would Sophie ask her if it's okay? It's her damn wedding shower and sure, their little encounter earlier was pretty awkward, but they seemed to get along so why feel the need to ask if it's cool?

She shakes her head at herself. She's totally overreacting to this. Over thinking it.

Pressing a kiss to Sophie's temple, she mutters a small, "No."

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I have a proposition."

Santana's eyebrow lifts, intrigued. "A proposition?"

"Yeah—Well, technically it's not a proposition. More of a demand, but I like to think you have a say in it."

There's something unsettling about the way those words are spoken, despite Santana being sure there's some light teasing in there somewhere.

(For a few seconds, she wonders if that's how married life with Sophie is going to be: demands instead of propositions.)

"Okay..." she draws out, tucking a lock of Sophie's hair behind her ear.

"You're not going to like it, but I think we should do it," Sophie shifts, sits up a little. "It will give us a traditional twist to our engagement."

Brown eyes narrow. Santana's getting more and more worried with every second. "Okay…"

"No sex until we're married."

Santana's mouth falls open and she thinks her hearts stopped for a second. Rejection flushes through her body and she sits up, untangling her body from her fiancée's and propping her back against the headboard. She tries to think of a way to say '_hell to the mother fucking no' _politely, but nothing comes to mind. They haven't even planned the wedding yet, and God knows Sophie will want at least six months to plan it, let alone being able to book a place, and that could take another six months or so.

That's a _year_.

Shit. An _entire year _without sex!?

Hell no!

Although, she knows Sophie, and so instead of letting that _fuck no _slip from her tongue, she turns to her and bites on her top lip. "What?"

"We—" Sophie gestures between them. "—Don't have sex until we're married." She shrugs. "No pre-marital sex."

Santana scoffs. "Uh, Sophie, I think we kind of blew that whole 'no pre-marital sex' thing out the water the day we met."

"Santana," Sophie's voice is low and serious. "I'm serious."

"I know, and so am I."

Green eyes narrow. "Well I mean from now on, then. No sex until the wedding night."

"That's a stupid idea."

Sophie sits up and crosses her arms. "No it's not. It's traditional. And think about how amazing it'll be on the wedding night."

"It's only traditional if you're still a virgin and honey," Santana leans forward, palm pressing against Sophie's shoulder. "Judging by your performance a minute ago, you _definitely _aren't."

A smile creeps onto the corner of Sophie's mouth and Santana smirks. For a few seconds, she thinks she's won, but Sophie seems adamant and her features return stoic.

"Santana, we're doing this."

In true Santana fashion, she rolls her eyes. Sometimes Sophie really pisses her off. "What, because you say so?"

Sophie nods, lifting her chin.

"Well, no," Santana shoots back. For fuck sake, they're already arguing and they aren't even married yet. "Let's just compromise."

"But I want this."

"And I don't," Santana counters, pulling the covers off and slipping her boxers back on, angrily. "You can't always get your way."

Sophie raises both eyebrows. "Well, whether you like it or not, this i_s_ happening."

Anger burns in the pit of Santana's stomach and she looks and her girlfriend incredulously. There's no point in arguing because ultimately Sophie is as stubborn as they come, and undoubtedly she'll get what she wants, no matter what Santana thinks. It's definitely one of those things that pisses Santana off, and so instead of arguing, she exhales heavily, shakes her head and throws on a tank top before leaving the room and slamming the door loudly.

Another night sleeping on the sofa.

Isn't this engagement just the best?

* * *

><p>Monday comes quicker than expected.<p>

Santana spent eighty percent of Sunday lounging around on the sofa whilst Sophie was on the phone constantly, babbling on about their wedding and planning it. They hadn't talked since their argument, and Santana sure as hell wasn't going to give in so it'd just stayed silent between them. Sophie was being the unreasonable one anyway, and Santana hadn't done a single fucking thing wrong so she saw no reason to apologize.

Although now, she does feel like a bit childish for planting the blame on someone. Stupid fucking arguments.

She arrives at her office in a pin striped blazer and matching skirt at 7am on the dot. She throws her briefcase down on her desk—harder than necessary—and plops in the chair in frustration thinking about her weekend. She'd slept another night on the couch—the _third _night in a row—and now she can feel the crick in the back of her neck.

Inwardly, she decides that she's either going to have to make use of the spare room and buy another bed, or suck it up and apologize despite doing nothing wrong; but neither of them really take her fancy.

A buzz breaks her out of her thoughts and she twists round, facing the computer as she digs out her iPhone. Flashing up on the screen is the name _Britt Britt _and underneath the text reads _ring me please :)_. She smiles instantly; her best friend could always cheer her up, no matter what. Her eyes roam outside the glass door quickly, noticing the lack of staff in the office and she figures she has at least half an hour before her secretary will be in, so there's no need to worry about ruining her cold hard reputation in front of them.

She picks up her phone, flicks down her contacts and presses the name she's looking for when she comes to it.

A couple of rings later, a ruffling greets her first and she lets out a giggle.

"Hey, Britt," Santana murmurs, twirling the ends of her hair between her forefinger and thumb.

She hears Brittany yawn. "_Hey, San. You're up early."_

Come to think of it, she _is_ up a hell of a lot earlier than usual. Probably to do with lack of sleep, or comfort, or high levels of frustration, or maybe a mixture of all three.

She exhales heavily at the thought of another night on the sofa. "Yeah, I had a fight with Sophie."

"_A caramel latte, and earl gray tea to go please," _Brittany's voice is muted, but comes back to normal shortly after."_Sorry San, just at Starbucks. Anyway, what did you do this time?"_

Santana grunts. "_I _didn't do anything."

"_San…"_

She tilts her neck back and rolls her head as she presses her phone between her shoulder and ear. "She hasn't even planned the wedding yet…"

"_So?"_

Santana grins. "Let me finish, woman. Anyway, she hasn't even planned the wedding, and they usually take like what, a year to plan?"

Brittany hums in agreement and it only confirms Santana's reason to be angry. _"Usually. Sometimes even longer. Yeah, extra cream please. Thank you."_

"Extra cream? You feeling alright, Britt?"

"_Oh hush you. I'm talking to the barista. Anyway, so yeah, you were saying?"_

Santana grins, and listens as a bell rings down the phone. She assumes Brittany's leaving Starbucks as the sound of New York traffic comes down the phone only seconds later. In some ways, she doesn't really want to indulge on her reluctance to not having sex until marriage, because the more she thinks about it, the more it makes her sound like a sexually frustrated teenager with raging hormones.

But then again, it's Brittany and they've been sharing sex tips and sex stories from the majority of their lives so this shouldn't be too bad.

"Sophie doesn't want to have sex until we're married."

"_What!" _Brittany half-yells, and Santana can just imagine the blonde looking around all flushed and embarrassed at her outburst. _"That's crazy, San!" _She continues in a lower tone. Yep, Brittany's embarrassed.

"That's what I said," Santana agrees, pulling out her lap top and opening the lid. "And then she got all pissy and said it's going to happen no matter what. So I don't have a choice."

"_Well," _Brittany breathes. _"First of all, stop thinking it makes you sound sexually frustrated because it doesn't, and second of all, that's ridiculous. If she'd planned the wedding I could probably understand, but some weddings take up to like two years to plan."_

The two year information just adds to the frustration and Santana groans, throwing her head back against the back of the chair. She thought a year tops, but two? Fuck no.

"Two years? Really? That long?"

"_Well it depends, every woman differs. For all you know Sophie might want to elope and you'll be in Vegas tomorrow."_

Santana thinks over the idea for a moment, tapping her chin. It's completely ridiculous, seeing as Sophie wants a big wedding, but she can't help but wish that maybe Sophie will reconsider.

"_San, stop. It's not going to happen._"

She smiles at how well Brittany can interpret her silence. It was always _their _thing, being able to know each other without even speaking.

"I know, B. I just, uh," Santana face palms herself and rubs her face slowly down her face as she props her legs up onto the desk, nearly knocking off the pot of pens next to her laptop. "When the hell did everything get so complicated?"

Silence answers her and she starts to think about all the times they'd shared throughout their school years where the biggest challenges were getting a date for the dance, or acing their exams. Relationships weren't messy back then, it was a simple '_I like you'_, and '_I like you too, let's date'. _There were no intense feelings, or mentions of marriage, and sometimes she can't help but feel like she wants to go back to then. Back to when things were simple. Easy.

"_I don't know," _Brittany replies. _"Things just happen so fast and everything tangles together creating a big, complicated mess. It just happens like that, San._"

Santana hears the sadness in her best friends tone and lowers her feet, leaning both elbows on the desk and cradling her head in her free hand. It's small, but it's there. She's always been able to hear it, even down a crappy cell phone connection. "What's up, Britt?"

"_Nothing." _Santana raises both eyebrows, even though Brittany can't see. _"I'm just tired and I've got the wedding shower today."_

She snorts. "You're actually going to that thing?"

She can hear the shrug down the phone. _"Well Sophie invited me, and she's your fiancée, so I think I should make the effort."_

"You're worried, why?"

Brittany giggles down the phone. They know each other _way _too well. _"I'm going to be surrounded by a bunch of women I don't know, and judged because I've spent seventeen years of my life being best friends with you."_

Not seeing a problem with it, Santana shrugs. "So?"

"_So," _Brittany starts, murmuring a quick '_excuse me_' to someone on the other end of the phone. "_You're gay."_

"Um… Yeah…"

Brittany exhales heavily. _"They'll probably automatically assume that I've slept with you and then judge me because we're that close."_

It catches Santana completely off guard, and she suppresses the urge to gasp. Even though her immediate reaction is to say _no that's stupid,_ Brittany does actually have a point. Her mother had always said that it was strange considering the closeness of their friendship, tied in with their sexuality that they'd never hooked up, or dated.

Don't get her wrong, Santana had actually proposed that maybe they should go out on a date four summers ago, and see where it went, but Brittany had thought it over and decided they were better as friends, and Santana agreed.

"Britt," Santana says, realizing she hasn't spoke for at least a minute. "Sophie knows nothing's ever happened between us, so there's no need to worry."

"_Hmm, I guess so. Seventh floor please._"

Santana enters her password and logs on to her laptop. "Stop worrying, Britt. It'll be fine."

"_I don't know, San."_

Several employee's walk in and Santana spots her secretary a few people back. She immediately straightens up and picks the phone up from between her shoulder and cheek. "Look, I've got to go, Jenny's here. But don't worry about the shower, and if you don't feel like going I'll make up an excuse for you."

"_Thanks San, hold on two seconds though."_

Santana rests back into her chair and drums her fingertips along the desktop. A few seconds later, the glass door opens and Santana holds up a finger without looking towards the door and says _wait, _pausing whoever's at the door.

"Britt," she calls down the phone. "Britt, I gotta go."

There are a few voices down the end of the phone and she taps her fingers, hearing it echo through the phone. Her eyes widen the littlest bit and she hears a giggle coming through the phone and what sounds like—

"I'm here, dummy."

Santana spins around in her chair and there's Brittany, leaning against the door frame with two coffee cups in hand. She steals a quick glance at her phone before hanging up and heading towards the door with a grin the size of Jupiter stretched across her face. Brittany opens her arms, making sure to hold the cups in the air as Santana engulfs her into a tight hug, and she feels the blonde respond by nuzzling her face into her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Santana says as she pulls away and gestures to the chair in front of her desk. "Don't you have a class to teach or something?"

Brittany shakes her head. "Nope. Thought I'd come see my best friend for a bit before the shower."

She hands over the coffee cup and Santana eyes up the coffee, wondering what's in there. "Is it a ca—"

"Caramel latte with extra cream, yes."

Santana grins in response and takes the lid off, blowing the steam with a small exhale of air. "You know me too well."

Brittany winks. "Always."

For the next four hours they talk whilst Santana does some work, and receives several strange stares from Jenny as she laughs and throws her head back. But frankly, she doesn't care. It's been a good eighteen months and apart from an hour or two on Saturday night; she hasn't spent a good length of time alone with Brittany. Truth be told, there's a hole in her heart that Brittany just fills whenever she's around.

* * *

><p>The hours go by quickly, and soon enough, Santana's secretary is interrupting her and Brittany's conversation and reminding her about the act she has to go and see tonight since apparently she agreed to it on Saturday with her boss. She agrees to do it anyway, scowling, and picks up her cell phone up to send Sophie a rather quick and blunt text telling her she' won't be home for dinner. She sets it down and turns back to her best friend, only to find Brittany right beside her, peering over her shoulder at the computer screen with a confused expression.<p>

"Hey, Britt?"

Brittany turns at the call of her name, and Santana's throat runs dry at how close she is. "Yeah?"

She knows she should probably tell Brittany the reason for calling her name, but she's sort of stuck in a daze. Her throat thickens as she stares at her best friend, eyes involuntarily flicking down to pink lips and back up to stunningly bright blue eyes. Her mind goes hazy for a good few seconds, almost clouding over, but she forces herself to shake out of it, leaning away.

It's then that Brittany notices the proximity because she does the same thing, but now they're just leaning away from each other, staring with quizzical expressions like neither of them know what the hell just happened, even though it felt strangely significant.

Neither of them do though, and it's thoroughly frustrating. The tension builds in the air, and Santana feels her breath picking up as she squints, trying to figure out why the air has suddenly gone all stuffy around them.

But before she can even force herself to come up with an answer, she brings her head further back, furrows both eyebrows and coughs awkwardly, her hand fiddling with the pen, tapping the end of it on the desk rapidly to create something louder than her pulse roaring in her ears.

"So," she says, coughing again. "How you feeling about going to see an act with me tonight? Apparently she's some small town chick with a great voice."

Brittany grins and nods, completely forgetting the tension that was around them. "Definitely."

"Great." Santana picks up the office phone and presses the button for her secretary.

The second she sees Jenny pick up through the glass walls of her office, she cuts her off and speaks in a sharp tone. "Jenny, I'm leaving early today, around five. Britt and I are going to see the act Gerry recommended after we get something to eat, but for now, I'm leaving early for lunch, too. I'll be back at two so rearrange my conference call." Jenny nods rapidly, noting all these down on a piece of paper at her desk. "Just make up an excuse for my absence and make it sound legitimate otherwise you're fired."

Through the glass, she sees Jenny's face pale. _"Yes, Miss Lopez."_

"What's her name?"

Jenny looks at her, panic evident in her eyes. _"Uh, sorry_—_Who's name?"_

Santana's expression drops, but eyebrow lifts. "The _acts _name, Jenny," she says, flatly, but then catches the look on Brittany's face and rolls her eyes. "Please."

"_Her name's Qui_—_Quinn Fabray."_

Despite the _be nice _look her best friend's shooting her, she rolls her eyes at the stutter. It's not natural, and Santana knows it never happens around anyone else but her; but that amuses her too because she knows from word around the office that Jenny is so scared of her, sometimes she actually _cries. _And it's not like Santana _enjoys _that, but it's just pretty funny. She barely even bitches out to Jenny and she's still terrified of her.

"Okay, thanks. And stop stuttering. I'm not going to kill you."

She hangs up before Jenny can answer, and turns to Brittany who's still staring at her with that _you should be nice _expression. She rolls her eyes.

"San, that was mean."

Santana shrugs, sorting out a few papers on her desk. "I _am _mean."

"No," Brittany reaches forward and picks a bit of fluff off Santana's blazer. "You _act _mean."

"It's the same thing," Santana fires back, picking up her pen and chewing on the end as Brittany leans back into her chair.

Except she's just grinning. "No, it's not. _I _know how much of a big softie you are," she quips, stretching forward again to pinch Santana's cheek.

A light chuckle escapes her lips as she frowns, swiping Brittany's hand away playfully. "Sssh." Her eyes flicker toward her secretary's desk who is now staring at them quizzically. "I have a reputation to uphold here, Britt, and I can't have you ruining it."

"Oh, as if."

She laughs again, and then Brittany joins in. They both chuckle for a good thirty seconds before they're left, sitting their, cradling their aching abdomens.

"Man," Santana sighs, wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her finger. "I haven't laughed like that in a long time."

Brittany lets out a another chuckle. "Neither have I." She pauses, takes in a deep breath. "I've missed you, Santana."

There's a pout forming on her lips and Santana grins, shaking her head and reaching forward to poke to protruding flesh back in with the tip of her finger. Immediately, Brittany scrunches up her nose, eyes crossing as the digit comes forward, but then all of a sudden, Santana's finger is trapped between a set of perfectly white teeth with hot breath beating against the skin. It doesn't hurt, because she knows this is just playful, but she still pretends like it is.

"Ow," she whines, furrowing her brow. "That hurts."

And Brittany giggles, knowing she's lying but all the laughter drains out of Santana when a warm, wet tongue flicks out against her finger. The blood disappears from her face and Brittany's still chuckling but Santana's not paying attention to that, instead realizing that her pants are feeling considerably tighter now.

That's when she remembers a time back in high school, when she and Brittany were eating ice cream together on a Summers day and Brittany chose not to go for whipped cream. Of course that meant that when Santana got some, somehow it became more appealing and Brittany demanded some, and so Santana did the only thing she could think of and scooped some off with her middle finger, offering out to her best friend who licked it off without a moments hesitation.

The next thing she knew though, she was clutching her crotch, trying to conceal the bulge showing through her jeans and sprinting to the bathroom. It really was one of the hardest things to explain to Brittany, telling her that she'd just got a boner over something her best friend did, but it was fine and Brittany laughed it off, telling her that it was common for 'people with penises' to get turned on when someone sucked on their middle finger.

(That did make her wonder that if Brittany knew that, why did she accept the offer to lick Santana's finger if she knew the effect it'd have on her.)

Although now, she highly doubts that she could explain to Brittany that it's has just happened _again._

So instead, Santana goes for the subtlest route she can think of and shoots up off her seat, yanking back her finger and taking two large strides to the door. "I've... Uh... Gotta go to the... Uh... Toilet."

Brittany's still in her seat, gazing at Santana's back with a dumbfounded expression, but Santana doesn't have enough time to explain. Shit. For the second fucking time she has a boner because of her best friend and if she doesn't get out of here, she's either going to have to explain or get so aroused that she asks Brittany to help her out with it and _fuck. _She can't do that. She knows how weird this looks though, and so she turns slightly, one hand fiddling with the crease at the base of her blazer whilst the over hovers awkwardly over the front of her skirt. She doesn't want to look to see if she's showing, that'd just be _too _obvious, but she doesn't know if she's showing or not.

_Fuck. _The complications of having a dick, seriously.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asks, softly, pushing up from her seat and approaching Santana. Her face is etched with concern, blue eyes slightly narrowed and the closer she gets, the more Santana can feel herself pushing up against her supposed 'concealing' boxers.

"I'm fine," she splutters, backing away to the threshold of her office and holding one hand out, deterring Brittany from moving closer. "I'm just... I need to the toilet."

Brittany seems to notice the clear panic in her tone, in her body language and stops, cocking her head to the smile and showing a small grin. "Are you sure? You seem a bit..." blue eyes trail over her body. "Flushed?"

Brown eyes widen, and Santana's hand bunches up the bottom of her blazer as she backs out the door, knocking her elbow on the door frame as she exits. There's a slight sting of pain, a dull ache too, but the flash of panic clouds her pain receptors and she finds herself not caring, instead just nodding erratically and swallowing against a thickening throat.

"I'm fine," she squeaks. "Just dandy.

Brittany examines her for a second, eyes flickering down the length of her body before the blue softens. "Okay, hurry up though. I wants to get my eating on."

If it weren't for the growing bulge and pulsing arousal thrumming through her, Santana would probably laugh at her best friend's lame attempt to fake a ghetto voice. It was always Santana's thing, trying to be all ghetto and get in touch with the tiniest bit of black she has in her bloodline, but Brittany had tried it once in high school and it'd made Santana laugh so much that ever since, the blonde girl had done it.

"O—Okay," Santana stutters, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'll be right back."

Without another word, she turns and sprints toward the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Santana scowls at the young intern applying eyeliner in the mirror when she enters the bathroom, and watches as the other woman scuttles away with a feared expression. She quickly jerks towards the door, flicking the lock on before resting her palms either side of one of the sinks and looking at herself in the mirror. It's not until now that she realizes how flushed she is; her cheeks and the tips of her ears are tinted with a dark pink, and her eyes are dark with arousal.<p>

Her hand flutters down her stomach, and she takes a quick glance around the bathroom, checking it's empty before hiking up her skirt to reveal the bulge. In the reflection of the mirror she can see the bulge formed in her tight, black boxers and she feels her throat grow thicker. There's a flash of blonde hair and strikingly beautiful blue eyes that flows through her brain and she squeezes her eyes shut, shaking the image out her brain as her eyes flicker back up to her reflection.

An idea pops into her head just then and she narrows her eyes, thinking it over for a second. Her member is growing harder and harder against the tight fabric and before she can even make the decision with conscious though, her hand slips down, fingertips trailing the outline of her cock. A low, throaty groan escapes her mouth and she closes her eyes at the sensation.

"Uh…" She groans, applying a lightest of pressures until she's cupping herself, rotating her palm and growing to her full length.

She imagines lying on her bed, completely bare and feeling her pert nipples as she watches the woman of her dreams saunter over to her, equally bare. It sends a shot of arousal through her stomach, and tingle that singes down every nerve, fizzling out at her fingertips. The woman grins seductively and quirks an eyebrow, before bending at the hip, and crawling up the bed with smoldering blue ey—

Oh, shit.

Santana snaps her eyes open and her mouth drops as she realizes the woman she was imagining wasn't the one she proposed to. Her face gets hot and her hand drops from her still-covered member, guilt strumming through her body until it feels like the weight of her word is on her shoulders. It's not like she _constantly _imagines Sophie when she's touching herself because that's just unrealistic; and admittedly, eighty percent of the time she _is _thinking about her, but it's just natural for her mind to wander off sometimes.

But it's never gone that far before.

It's never gone toward Brittany. She's never thought of her best friend whilst touching herself, and _fuck, _she just did. And she's not like that at all. She may be a lot of things, a troublemaker, a bitch, and all the follow after that, but she's not a cheater. No matter what people in high school used to say.

On the other hand, though, it's not like it's _really _cheating. It can't properly be considered cheating because _technically, _she's not doing anything wrong.

It's not like she's screwing Brittany on the bathroom floor, moaning into her mouth as she sinks deep within her best friend. It's not like she's _actually _touching herself, running her hands all over Brittany's body. She's just _thinking _about Brittany. Not even necessarily doing dirty things, just imagining _her._

A buzzing interrupts her vulgar, (okay maybe not vulgar) thoughts, and she flips out her phone, clicking it to find a picture of Sophie on the screen with a short text underneath it. Guilt flows into her body and she resists the urge to roll her eyes at the way it settles in her gut.

She knows it's wrong, despite all the technicalities. She knows she shouldn't be thinking what she is, but she's not doing anything wrong. And what the hell else was she supposed to think about, seeing as Sophie had told her she wouldn't be walking around naked in front of Santana anymore because the 'urge might be too strong'? Sure, Santana has her imagination and memories to go through, but when there's a walking, talking, living best friend, right in front of her with glowing skin, mesmerizing eyes and legs to die for, it's hard _not _to accidentally let her mind stumble there when she's masturbating.

Hell, she'd have to not have a brain to have an erotic image of her best friend pass through her mind at _some _point in her life.

But no—_Fuck. _It's wrong.

It's _so _wrong, and there's no point in trying to find an excuse because the bottom line is that Brittany's her best friend, and Sophie's her fiancée. _Sophie _is the one she should be thinking of. _Sophie _is the woman of her dreams that supplies her with everything she needs, both mentally and physically and Brittany is just her _best friend. _That's it.

Her eyes find herself in the reflection, noticing the lack of bulge under her tight boxers. She sighs a little, still feeling the heat from before but knowing it's not as intense and pushes the bunched skirt back down from her waist, twisting her body so the skirt sits comfortably. At least she doesn't have to deal with a raging hard on anymore. That'd be... Sticky.

She sorts out her hair, applies a layer of lip gloss and leaves without another thought to Brittany or Sophie.

* * *

><p>When she gets back to her office, Brittany's moved from the chair she was on to Santana's, flicking through Facebook on her laptop with her feet propped up on the desk.<p>

Santana gulps as she looks at her, because Brittany's wearing a _very _short denim skirt today, despite the chill in the air, and that means her long, smooths legs are out. Combine that with the thoughts Santana was having a minute ago, and she's having a really fucking hard time _not _getting an erection again. Especially when the room seem to be brighter now, and that's just highlighting the glowing skin covering Brittany's legs.

Pushing the thoughts of best friends, arousal, sex or anything in that area, Santana ducks her head and makes her way into her office, shutting the door behind her and running a hand through her hair, pulling through the slight tangles there. She stops, staring at her best friend and waits until blue eyes slide to her to speak.

"You took your time," Brittany teases, sticking out her tongue and scrunching her nose. "What were you doing?"

It's like God is out to get her because at the same time the word's leave Brittany's mouth, she's getting up, stretching her arms way above her head and revealing a slither of flat, toned stomach beneath a one size too small tank top. Seriously, this just isn't fucking fair, and Santana gulps, hoping it's not too loud and makes her way over to the desk, widening her step so she doesn't get too close to Brittany as she shuts her laptop.

The thoughts streaming through her head are quickly cut off by a hand on her shoulder, soft and light. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Brittany raise an eyebrow at her, bite her lip and ask her a silent question, but Santana doesn't move. Hell, she hardly breathes as she pushes away the guilt she's feeling and the fiery touch emanating from the palm on her shoulder, burning all the way through her blazer and shirt.

This is just ridiculous.

"Sorry," she murmurs, stepping away from Brittany and hearing the rush of air as Brittany's hand drops. "Longest pee ever."

She looks back up, expecting to find some laughter in Brittany's expression, but all she sees is skepticism and suspicious. The air seems to get hotter at that moment and she purses her lips, rolling her shoulders inside her blazer as her fingers creep along the hem of her blazer, fiddling with it. Normally, she'd make a joke, or do something to break the way Brittany's looking at her, but in this moment, her mind's just completely blank.

She has all of these emotions inside of her, guilt and arousal still there, and she knows she's only acting so weird toward Brittany is because she hasn't sex in what feels like forever. Okay, maybe it's only actually being two days or something, but she knows that she's sustaining from sex which makes her want it more than ever. It's like being told not to do something, it just makes you want to do it all the more.

And it really doesn't help that Brittany's just sex on legs. Seriously. She has like, _the _highest level of sex appeal Santana's ever known and it's just fucking with her mind. It's not attraction, it's not lust, it's just sexual frustration; nothing to feel guilty about.

"Right," Brittany draws out, clearly not believing Santana. Why should she though? Santana _is _being weird. "Anyway, shall we get going?"

Letting out a long exhale, Santana feels some pressure lifted off her chest. It takes a few seconds before she can recollect her thoughts, her actions, but she manages to and forces her body into doing something, which is picking up her purse and smiling at her best friend.

"Let's."

And with the strange tingling in the pit of her stomach, she lets Brittany go in front of her and closes the door behind them, not knowing how long she can last without this whole sex thing.

This wedding better come quick.


	4. chapter four

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Four]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>10400

* * *

><p><strong>Early November 2018<strong>

"_Santana!"_

Santana jolts from her desk, knocking over her coffee mug and spilling some of the contents over the signed contracts lying out on her desk. Shit. Coffee stains are hard to get out. And she would snap at her boss for scaring the crap out of her, maybe say something catch or witty, or just something that'd sting in general, but she likes her job. Then factor in the e-mail she just received from _Wedding Day Inc. _about Sophie wanting a fifty thousand dollar wedding, unemployment probably wouldn't be the way to go, so no shouting at the boss today.

Instead, she grasps the contracts and flicks them back and forth, droplets of coffee dropping off tanned skin and white paper and reaches for the flashing button on the office phone sitting on her desk.

She clears her throat, placing down the stained contracts. Thank the Lord for copies. "Uh, yes, Sir?"

"_My office, now."_

Santana grimaces. She never has been and never will be one for being told what to do, especially when it's her asshole of a boss who doesn't even have the decency to say freaking _please. _Like, seriously, how hard is it to be polite? But she can tell by his tone it's something important and keeps telling herself that she needs to stick with this job. She needs to stick with it and get past the wedding and then think about her future plans seeing as there's no way in hell she's staying at this job forever.

"Yes, Sir."

Releasing her finger from the button, she stands, smooths out the creases on her skirt and heads for the door. She won't lie, she's a little nervous. Her boss sounded pretty serious, and he never _personally _calls into her office to see her. When he does it usually either means she's in shit or... Well, she's never found out a second possibility as to why. The only times he's ever called her is was because she was in shit.

Just great.

With a quivering hand, she raps on the door three times and awaits instruction. A deep _"come in" _sounds through the door not a moment later and she takes in a deep breath, pushing open the door to find her boss, Gerry, sitting behind his desk, chubby sausage fingers clasping a pen in one hand whilst the other is clutching some sort of file. Glasses are perched on the end of his nose, and they're almost so comically small that Santana barks out a laugh seeing as they make her boss' fat head look fatter than usual. A pin striped power suit dons his body, and his head shines in the light, a few wisps of hair combed over, trying and failing to hide the fact that he's balding, and honestly? Santana doesn't know how this guy's married.

She's not a shallow bitch or anything, but her boss isn't nice, nor does he have the body to make up for his lack of personality and shit, the only thing she can possibly come up with right now, as she stands in the door gaping at her boss is that his wife must be staying with him for the same reason he has a four thousand dollar watch resting nicely on his wrist.

"Mr. Jenson," Santana states, making herself sound formal. "You asked to see me?"

Eyes slide toward her. "Yes, Santana. Please, sit."

There's a slapping sound as the file her boss was clutching is thrown to the desk, skidding over varnished wood to come to a halt at the edge of the desk, in front of the chair Santana's just about to sit in. She eyes the file skeptically, looking between the manilla folder and her boss to see if she's done something wrong but there's no twinkle in her boss' eye that says _I'm going to fire you because of what's inside this folder _so it's all good so far.

As soon as her ass meets the cushion of the chair, she crosses one leg over the other and reaches for the folder. "What's this?"

Her boss slowly rises from the chair, pushing off each armrest with stubby arms and Santana watches them bend beneath the pressure. If it weren't for the tension in the air, she'd probably laugh. But she doesn't and instead picks up the file, flicking it open but keeping her eyes on her boss.

"Well, Miss Lopez," he starts, walking toward the wide window behind him and stopping, peering out of it. "It's come to my attention that you signed Robert Pointer last month?"

"Yes, I did."

"And that would be your… Twentieth signing since you've been here? Am I correct?"

She nods, but realizes a second later he can't see it and hums instead, quickly rolling her eyes at herself for _humming _in response. What kind of a professional does that?

"Right. Just as I thought." Gerry's voice is low and serious and Santana straightens up a little with fear. "That brings me to my next point."

Santana swallows heavily, eyes finally drifting down to the file in hand to find the contract she wrote up and signed, along with Robert Pointer, last month. There's nothing special about it, and as she scans over it, there aren't any faults or loopholes. Or maybe that's the problem?

"Excuse me, Mr. Jenson," she starts. "If I've done something—"

"Why do you think you're here?"

The question is shot at her so fast that she has to take a few seconds to blink and let it process in her mind. She coughs to clear her throat before she responds. "Honestly? I don't know."

A smile curls at the edges of Gerry's mouth, and Santana's not sure whether she's supposed to feel nervous or good about him doing that so she just continues to stare blankly. She literally doesn't have a clue what's going on and she kind of just wants to reach across the table, slap her boss and tell him to spit it out. But he's staring at her like he just found out she slept with his wife or something. Obviously, she hasn't, and never would because of millions of different reasons but still, it's _that _kind of look.

"Well, Santana," Gerry crosses one large arm over his chest, the other reaching up to pick the glasses off his face and tuck them beside the red handkerchief hanging out his blazer pocket. "Congratulations."

She blinks. "Excuse me?"

"Congratulations," he repeats, his grin widening and arms untangling to raise them in the air. "You've signed twenty acts in four years! It's a new business record and therefore puts us above Columbia and Virgin Records!"

Judging by Gerry's tone, she should be celebrating because it's all high and excited, but she can't really focus on that 'cause she's so damn relieved. Relieved that she didn't get fired and relieved that nothing bad is to come of this meeting.

Pressing her hand to her chest, she breaths out heavily, relaxing her scrunched eyebrows and shakes her head slowly. "Jesus. You scared me."

His smile falters and arms drop. "That's all you have to say? That I _scared _you?"

Santana smiles weakly and lifts a shoulder. "I thought you were going to fire me or something."

A deep throaty laugh escapes Gerry's lips, but she just continues to grin, slowly figuring out that getting a personal congratulations from the boss for signing twenty acts in four years can only mean one thing. _Bonus._

"So," she clears her throat, trying not to get too excited yet. "What does this mean? Do I get my own private island or access to the company jet or something?" She jokes. Well, slightly joking. Wouldn't hurt to suggest either of them and planting the idea inside her boss' mind, right?

"Not quite yet," he winks and she bites back the urge to shudder. "But it gets you on your way." He makes his way back to his chair and slumps down into it, the metal of the wheels creaking beneath his weight. "Come by my office at five o'clock and collect your cheque."

Despite all the excitement buzzing through her, Santana retains the urge to jump from her seat, bounce around the office and act like a little kid who just found the toys aisle at Wal-Mart and instead struggles to force a soft smile and gracefully rises from her seat, brushing down her skirt to adjust it slightly. She offers out her hand—it's the right thing to do in this situation, she thinks—and watches as Gerry eyes it quickly, before flashing her a grin and slapping his meaty hand into it, shaking it roughly.

"Again, Lopez, congratulations. I'm assuming this means you and your fiancée can have the wedding sooner than planned?"

Suddenly a rush of excitement for not only her bonus, but for the wedding, surges through her and she almost claps her hands together like a seal to show her happiness, but then Gerry shoots her a strange expression and she deflates, forcing a cough and choosing to play it cool. Even though she's like, ninety nine percent sure it totally didn't come off like that.

"Yeah," she bobs her head. "Guess so."

Gerry smiles at her one last time and picks up the file. It's the sign for Santana to get out and so she lowers her head at him and backs away, pointedly not giving into the urge to skip back to her office.

* * *

><p>"It was <em>so <em>embarrassing, Santana! I'm actually going to _kill _Rachel!"

Santana's lungs are actually hurting with how much she's laughed in the past ten minutes, but somehow she still manages to continue laughing at her best friend telling her recent and very embarrassing story as they both come to a stop at a hot dog vendor. She looks towards the sweaty, Turkish guy and smiles, muttering a quick order for her and Brittany, then turns back to her best friend and shakes her head, cheeks aching from the grin on her face.

"Oh, come _on," _she says, leaning gently against the metal cart. "It can't have been that bad."

Brittany's expression is less than amused as she tilts her head to the side. "She gave me a thong with a freaking _zip _in it as a present for Sophie," she says, monotonously, face slowly reddening. "And not just any present, a _wedding _present, San."

Santana tries not to snicker, she really does, but it doesn't work and instead barks out a full blown chuckle, her chest rapidly moving as the hot dog vendor hands over two hot dogs. She flashes a dazzling smile and he blinks, dazed for a minute, before accepting the five dollar bill she slides him.

"Britt, I'm sorry, but that's freaking _hilarious."_

"It so was not! It was humiliating!" Brittany screeches, playfully, throwing hands in the air and dropping it back down. She closes her eyes and shakes her head at herself before taking the hot dog without onions handed to her. "And this was supposed to be _my _treat," she nods toward the hot dog in her hand. "But thank you, anyway."

The smile on Santana's face widens as they step up to the sauce station, pausing to drown their hot dogs in ketchup and mustard. It's the way they like it.

"Well, tough. It's my treat. And humiliation or not, that shit must have been funny as hell." Santana switches her hot dog with Brittany's as she presses down on the lever to cover Brittany's hot dog in mustard as she's that side, whilst Brittany covers her in ketchup 'cause she's _that _side. "And at least I have something to look forward to, now."

Brittany's face contorts with disgust as she takes back her hot dog, handing Santana's over to her. "That's gross, San. I don't need to know what my best friend and her fiancée get up to in the bedroom."

Santana's mouth drops open to say something but it snaps shut right away, noticing the look she's getting in her peripheral vision as they begin walking through the park again. Brittany's smirking at her, eyebrow raised and eyes knowing, and Santana just looks away, dipping her head. Shit. She forgot she told Brittany about the whole 'no sex' thing.

"Oh, yeah," the blonde says, pretending she's just remembered as she bumps their hips together. "I forgot you aren't getting any."

Lifting her hand, Santana makes a jerking off movement with her hand but regrets it instantly.

"Practiced movement, Santana?"

She just sends a scowl to her best friend and Brittany sends a wink back, making Santana's body tingle in the weirdest of ways. She pushes the feeling away though, swearing it's the hot dog or something—despite not even taking a bite yet—and they both laugh it out, before the sound of trees swaying and leaves rolling across the path in front of them is the only sound between them.

Then she remembers something and pipes up, instantly forgetting the weirdness running through her a minute ago. "Oh! So, yeah, good news!"

"Yeah?" Brittany mumbles, mouth opening to take a bite of the hot dog. Except at the very same moment her lips wrap around the sausage, the moment something flicks in Santana's mind and her eyes widen, suddenly imagining something _very _different. She tells herself it's just a hot dog, just a phallic shaped object and squeezes her eyes shut, looking away. This whole no sex thing is screwing with her mind. Or maybe Brittany's just teasing her seeing as she knows about the whole lack of sex life thing going on right now.

"Uh—yeah," she grunts, trying to get back on track. "Bonus. I got one," she stutters, nodding when it makes sense. "I got a bonus, today."

"You did?"

"Yep," Santana lifts her chin, proudly. "Fifty grand."

Brittany splutters out some bread, choking on the mouthful she's taking, and Santana figures that okay, maybe Brittany's not teasing her.

"Holy crap!" The blonde finally says, throwing her arms around Santana. "That's amazing!" She cheers, pulling back from the hug. "What did you do to get it!?"

"I just got me some mad skills," Santana says, trying to sound and look ghetto by popping her collar. If she were anyone else, saying that phrase would probably be one of the most embarrassing things ever, but with Brittany, it just takes her back, makes her feel like a kid again. Makes her feel like she can take a break from being a grown up and just forget all this adult shit and be as goofy as she wants. With Brittany, it's just like she's free, and Brittany's always had that hold of her; and Santana sure as hell doesn't want to let go of that hold.

"At least that means you get to arrange your wedding earlier," Brittany shrugs. "Now that you have the funds and all."

That thought brings Santana back to one about her and Brittany's friend; about what's going to happen to them when she gets married, and all of a sudden, her good mood disappears.

Brittany must see it, because she pokes Santana in the cheek, swallows her mouthful and ask, "What's that face for?"

Santana lifts a shoulder as she balls up her hot dog wrapped, throwing it in a bin they pass by. She doesn't know quite how to explain herself, and so she's just going to go for broke. "Me getting married isn't—" She looks up to meet blue eyes. "It isn't going to get in the way of us, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

Brittany slows her walking after the question, Santana meets the pace.

"It's just—" There's a sinking feeling in the middle of her chest and she can't do anything but feel it as she tries to explain. "It's just we didn't see each other for a year and a half, and the majority of that I was with Sophie." She shrugs. "And I don't know if marriage is going to push us apart completely."

Brittany's hand drops by her side, and they just walk for a bit in silence, their hands swaying back and forth lightly.

But then Brittany talks, except her voice is sad and low. "Relationships always change things. It's inevitable."

It only causes the pressure on Santana's chest to build, and it's at that moment they pass two teenage girls, pushing each other playfully and laughing together until that pressure turns into a dull throb. In some ways, she wishes they could go back to that in some ways because everything's so damn complicated now. It was so much easier back then, and as she turns her head to look at her best friend, she sees exactly the same thing etching it's way across Brittany's expression as the two girls disappear behind them.

So she reaches out and pulls on Brittany's hug, causing her to stop and twist until they're face to face.

And it's not until now that she's not entirely aware of what she was planning on doing. So, she settles for releasing Brittany's hands and sliding her own ones around Brittany's waist, pulling their bodies together. Strong arms wind around her neck, clinging on tightly and even though they're in broad daylight, in the middle of Central Park, it feels like it's just them in this moment, and it feels _so _fucking good.

Santana buries her face into the crook of Brittany's neck, feeling Brittany sink into her embrace and honestly, it's times like these when she's glad for Brittany because it's just like all the shit washes away when her best friend's in her arms. It just feels like she's safe and secure. Like nothing can touch her.

After a long moment, she pulls away but doesn't step back. She glances up into deep, blue eyes and smiles softly, brushing a piece of blonde hair behind Brittany's ear. Even though it's an action she's done a million times before, somehow it feels different and she finds herself freezing, realizing how _domestic _the gesture was. But even though, yeah, it was a little domestic, she finds herself not caring and slows the movement, letting her eyes roam around Brittany's face as blue eyes do the same to her.

But she must have done something wrong, because Brittany ducks her head suddenly, rocking back a step and takes out her phone.

"Santana, we should be getting to the gig," she says, her voice low. "It's like four thirty, now."

Santana tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowing but she agrees anyway, despite the strange reaction. "Sure, Britt."

* * *

><p>They edge out of the park and head down fifth avenue silently after that, and Santana checks down the street to try and spot a free taxi when she catches the way Brittany's looking distantly out into nothing, her face slightly hard and a crinkle between her brows. So she reaches over, links their pinkies together like they used to in high school and grins when Brittany snaps her head up, blue eyes meeting brown, and sighs. Although it does make her a little suspicious because she doesn't know what caused the sudden shift. They were fine before, and now it's all weird.<p>

A cab pulls up a split second later, distracting her from her thoughts and Brittany breaks their pinkies first, sliding into the cab and letting Santana slide in after her. Leaning over to the driver, Santana murmurs the address of the venue and the cab peels away from the curb.

That doesn't stop Santana from noticing the way Brittany's scooted a little too far away from Santana on the seat.

So she says something. "Are you okay?"

Brittany twists her neck, switching her vision from out the window to Santana. "Yeah," she breathes, unconvincingly.

Raising an eyebrow, Santana examines her best friend. The usually bright blue eyes are dark, and there's something wounded in Brittany's appearance, too. It's something Santana's always been able to pick up on, and just as she's about to ask, Brittany completely shifts, brightening up and grins widely at Santana.

"So tell me about the act tonight," she asks, bouncing a little. "What's she like?"

And it's then that Santana realizes her best friend doesn't want to tell her.

So, a little disheartened and hurt, she slides her hands through her hair and talks about the night instead.

If Brittany wanted to tell her, she would.

Right?

* * *

><p>By 8pm, they're crossing the threshold back stage with their special passes looped around their necks. The grin on Brittany's face when Santana said they were going back stage could've ripped her face in half, but hell, making her best friend that happy felt amazing. Especially after the week she's had.<p>

Santana grabs onto Brittany's hand as they make their way through the crowd back stage in attempt to find the blonde that performed about an hour ago — the name of which skips her mind. She was just as good as Gerry had said, her voice was soft, lyrics were meaningful and emotion was strong and she'd definitely bring a new twist to Millennium Records, hence why Santana's pushing through the crowd, latched onto her best friend trying to find her.

But it's weird because she's not used to going after acts. Usually they approach her, but hey, some things are worth fighting for if they're just _that _good.

Santana halts to a stop in the middle of floor, craning her neck as her eyes scan the area. Brittany's front presses into her back, and her body unconsciously arches as a warmth spreads through her body, her eyes fluttering shut involuntarily as the feel of having Brittany near her hits her. It shoots straight to her groin and she tries not to focus on the feeling. This no sex rule is _seriously _fucking with her head.

A blonde head of hair catches her eye in the far corner, and she tugs on her best friend's wrist as they approach the performer. It's strange, because she feels like she's back as an intern, back when she had to roam around hundreds of venues and practically beg performers to even talk to her, but she focuses on the fact that she _isn't _in that position anymore. She's advanced to the top and soon enough, if she works hard, she's sure she could even take Gerry's job.

But anyway, as she nears the artist, the nerves sets in and she swallows, trying to push them away, putting on a business smile that she knows is both charming and capable of sealing the deal. It may sound like she's up herself, but it got her a twentieth signing and a fifty thousand dollar bonus last time so fuck it, it's totally worth it.

The nearer she gets near the performer though, she harder the realization sinks in that she has absolutely no recollection of what the the girls name is. _Shit. _She even tries to blink erratically to see if it'll somehow refresh her memory, but nothing comes to mind and she stills, a few meters away from the act and begins freaking out.

But of course, Brittany's right there, sensing the hesitation and leans in, ghosting her lips over the shell of Santana's ear and whispering "Quinn Fabray" like she's reading Santana's mind. It's sort of freaky, not only because she didn't even need to say it out loud for Brittany to know, but because she's pretty sure she didn't tell her, but it's not like it's the time to think about that because she's got work to do.

Right. The job.

"Excuse me," Santana mumbles, approaching the artist with a smile. "You're Quinn Fabray?"

The blonde girl turns around, revealing a dazzling set of straight teeth and bright, hazel eyes. "Uh, yes?"

With a business smile firmly pasted on her face, Santana smirks to herself. "Great. I'm Santana Lopez, A&R executive for Millennium Records." She turns and points to Brittany. "This is Brittany Pierce, and we were wondering if you would be interested in signing?" She asks, reaching into her pocket to take out a single card and hand it to Quinn.

Quinn looks at the card skeptically and twists the cap open of her water bottle in her hand to take a sip. "Um, I'm not so sure."

"Nobody signed you yet, though?" Santana pushes the card out further as Quinn walks down the hall. She spares a quick glance at Brittany who urges her forward with wide eyes, and she follows the blonde. Talking and walking it is.

"I know who you are, Santana, and I don't think Millennium is ready for my kind of music."

Quinn smiles at a few passing people, and shakes hands with a blonde guy with Justin Bieber style hair. It's not usual for Santana to be rejected by acts. Actually, come to think of it, this is the first time she's ever approached and act and it's turned her down and damn, now she only wants Quinn signed more.

Brittany trails behind, glancing at all the surrounding acts and people. Santana turns her attention back to the blonde and hands out her card once more, which Quinn rejects _again._

"Why don't you take this?" Santana pushes the card out further as Quinn continues down the corridor, dodging the moving bodies coming at her. She thinks back to high school where that version of her would push the performer up against the wall, shove the card into any available space, whether that be a pocket or an open mouth, and force her to take it. But patience is a virtue, so she smiles and cocks her head to the side, following Quinn. "Just in case."

"You wanna sign me to up to your money making scheme that doesn't give a crap about the music?"

Santana steps back, but keeps her hand elevated. What Quinn said strikes a chord, because that's something she never wanted for her job, for the music industry. She only joined because she loved music and dancing so damn much, and the idea that she's working for a company that's just in it for the money, makes her thing over a few things.

"No," Santana starts. "I care about the music. You're looking for a label, right?"

She doesn't give Quinn enough time to answer, and looks around the white summer dress and denim jacket the blonde's wearing, trying to find somewhere to put the damn card. But of course, there isn't anywhere, so instead she stands there, hand hovering over Quinn's body, looking like an idiot. She hears Brittany giggle behind her and fights the smile that's curling her lips. She's trying to be professional here. Dammit Brittany.

"To be honest, Santana?" Quinn pushes her hand away and looks up apologetically. "I really don't think Millennium is ready for my kind of music. You guys are into hip hop and R'n'B, and I'm _not _that kind of style."

It's more difficult than she thought, and so she straightens her back and buffs her chest. Might as well give it her all.

"Well, look, Miss Fabray, we're looking to branch out and we're not just hip hop and R'n'B, despite popular opinion. I think you have an amazing voice, and could definitely do well with our label."

"Thank you, honestly, but I'm going to have to decline," Quinn says as her name is called by the blonde guy from before. "I know where you are though, so if I change my mind I'll be sure to come to you."

Quinn walks away, sending an apologetic smile over her shoulder, and Santana sinks in defeat. Brittany's standing next to her, mouth contorting uncomfortably as she tries to conceal a giggle and for a few seconds, Santana wants to be pissed off; but it's Brittany, and so it doesn't surprise her when she starts chuckling along with her best friend. It's just how it is with Brittany.

"Well, that failed," Brittany points out, giggling. "Nice one big shot."

Santana slaps Brittany's arm playfully and they head back the way they came. "Shut up. I tried didn't I?"

But before the blonde can answer, Santana feels someone tap her shoulder and she turns around, spotting a small brunette grinning at her. Her eyes flicker towards Brittany who's raising both eyebrows at the woman bouncing up and down, clasping her hands in front of her and she's pretty sure this girl performed on stage, because she distinctly remembers ducking a plastic bottle as it flew over her head at the stage toward this girl.

"Can I help you?" Santana asks, side stepping so they aren't in the middle of the hall, blocking people.

"Santana Lopez, right?" The small brunette asks, still grinning widely. "I'm Sugar Motta. I'm awesome and my voice is out of this world."

Brittany chuckles and Santana knows it's because of the name. It's kind of a ridiculous name, but it's not like she hasn't heard stranger. Damn, last week some guy from her floor signed a guy called Hugh Jass, no joke.

So she shrugs it off and raises an eyebrow. "Uhm, okay?"

"I've just been signed to Millennium Records."

Santana's mouth drops open and she can't help herself as a scoff escapes her lips. "You're joking, right?"

Sugar shakes her head. "Nope. Gerry Jenson and I had a meeting today. Even though he's a fat, perverted, and really needs to stop staring at my boobs, he offered me a contract and I accepted."

Brittany frowns to the side, her face saying _what the hell _and Santana knows hers is doing the same thing. Her eyes dart to the girl in front of her and she wets her lips. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry," Sugar cocks her head to the side. "I have self-diagnosed Asperger's and it means I can pretty much say what I want."

Santana's having quite a hard time believing that this is happening. She's seen so many talented acts around tonight and yet Gerry's signed _this _one? The one who sounded like a drowning cat? The one who was booed off stage? How is this possible!?

A hand presses to the small of her back reassuringly, and she sinks into Brittany's touch, wondering whether laughing in this woman's face would be appropriate or not. She could run away too, pretend like this never happened but she acknowledges that neither of those options is incredible professional. Although, her boss did sign this crazy ass chick and that's not exactly professional considering her voice.

"Uh, sure." She shakes her head. "Whatever."

"We have a meeting tomorrow, so I'll see you there Santana," Sugar grins and bounces in her step before heading off towards the stage.

Quinn's words come shooting through her mind—_money making business that doesn't give a crap about the music_— and even though she was against listening to Quinn, she wonders whether her boss is actually serious and starts to think over her job. Was Quinn right? Is the business she in just about the money?

Damn, she doesn't know. As if her life wasn't stressful enough, now her job is adding extra to it. Fucking brilliant.

She needs to talk to her boss. And she needs to talk to her boss, pronto.

"Is she serious?" Brittany whispers in her ear, breaking her from her thoughts.

Santana shudders at the proximity of her best friend, of the breath beating against her skin but she just shrugs as she looks off into the distance.

"I don't know, Britt. I just don't know."

* * *

><p>"Sophie?" Santana calls as she gets through the front door, chucking her keys down on the table and shrugging her coat off. "Sophie, I'm home."<p>

She barely has time to move further into the apartment when Sophie comes bounding from the bedroom and almost knocks Santana over as she cups the back of her neck with both hands, brings their lips together and kisses her hard and sloppy. Her tongue makes quick work, pushing into Santana's mouth and Santana just grabs onto her hips as she tells herself to kiss back. After all, she's had days of blunt texts and zero touching and now Sophie's all over her? What the hell?

Her hands slide down as she kisses back, stroking her tongue over Sophie's and palms grasping at her ass hard, grinding their hips together. The kiss is sloppy and deep, and Santana can already feel the effect of it shooting down to her groin, making her press up against the tight fabric of her boxers; but it doesn't stop her from deepening the kiss as pale hands wind into her hair, tugging roughly and securing their faces together as they kiss and kiss.

After a long minute, Santana pulls away, gasping for air and rests her forehead against her fiancée's. It takes another few seconds before she can regain her breath, and when she does, it comes out in short pants as she asks, "What was that for?"

Sophie pulls back further, and smiles widely. "I heard you got a bonus."

Pale fingers scratch against her scalp lightly, whilst Sophie kisses her way down Santana's jaw and neck, and usually she'd enjoy it but she's kind of distracted. It's not like she wasn't expecting her fiancée to be over the moon, but it just annoys her how one second they'll be fighting, and when money comes into the equation, bam, Sophie's right back in her arms, grinding her hips slowly and sucking on a spot that Sophie's _convinced _is Santana's pulse point, even though it's the other side of her neck and about five inches off.

But she nods gently anyway and continues to rub up and down Sophie's back. "Yeah, it means we can have our wedding earlier."

Sophie grins widely against her neck, and Santana pushes up lightly to feel the bulge press against the other woman's stomach, adding a little more pressure. It's not what she wants, but damn, it's all she's going to get, so might as well make it last. But Sophie clicks her tongue when she feels the motion, pulling back and putting a little space between them. Santana just huffs loudly and rolls her eyes. It feels like four years since she had sex, can't Sophie just _help _her get off instead?

"I've actually already booked everything," Sophie declares as she makes her way to the kitchen, shooting Santana a seductive smile over her shoulder. "All we need is to pay the caterers, the band, the party planners and then the guys who are letting us use the church at late notice, and then we can get married. And now we can do that."

Santana stands in the same spot, confused for a few seconds before she brushes down her skirt and follows Sophie. She's ecstatic that she got this bonus and all, and that the wedding is going to be soon because of it, but she doesn't really want to spend _all _her money on it. Anyway, aren't dad's supposed to pay for it? Father of the bride and all?

"Sophie," she starts, hopping up onto the counter. "What part is your dad having in this?"

Sophie turns, looks at her from the sink. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Santana's eyes flick around the kitchen. "Like the whole father of the bride paying for the wedding. Is he having any say in it?"

Green eyes narrow. "You're a bride, too, Santana."

"I haven't spoken to my dad in years, Sophie. You know that."

Sophie shrugs. "Maybe you should."

Sliding off the counter, Santana makes her way toward the fridge, pulling open the door and grabbing a beer from inside. If she's going to be having this conversation she's going to need some type of alcohol in her. "And maybe your dad could put a little input into this wedding. You still talk to your dad and I don't."

It's not like it was Santana's choice not to talk to her dad because if she could, she probably would. She doesn't have some deep hate for him, even if Sophie's convinced she does, it's just that her father was a strict Catholic, and he pretty much rejected anything that wasn't written in the bible which of course pushed Santana out due to her sexuality. From her birth, Santana's dad was never her biggest supporter. He thought due to her extra appendage, Santana was cursed and he decided that he wouldn't have much to do with her. Her mother was a dick, too, so it's not like she said anything in Santana's defense mostly because she would've done anything to stay with her father, including basically disowning her daughter because of a birth defect.

In any other situation, Santana would've been hurt to know she had a dad like that, but the truth was she just never really cared enough to be hurt by it. Her grandparents were accepting of her instead, and loved her for who she was, despite the whole penis and homosexuality thing; and that's all she really needed in her life. Her mom was barely around anyway, she was always working in Wall Street or pretending to do that whilst fucking her boss, and Santana's older brother of sex years moved to Hollywood in order to pursue an acting career as soon as he turned eighteen. That left Santana alone with her grandparents until she was eighteen when she went to Berkeley, studied for two years and came out with a degree in the end. She didn't need her parents, and she only proved that on her 21st birthday when she was given an internship at one of the most exclusive record label's around, and bought a large, studio apartment in downtown Manhattan.

So considering her family is sort of out the loop, Sophie asking her to speak to her dad—a man she hasn't spoken to since she left high school—is pretty fucking unfair. It pisses her off and she doesn't get how Sophie can't see that; especially because Sophie knows all about Santana's family and her past.

Realizing she hasn't spoken in about four minutes, Santana glances up, but only finds an empty kitchen before her. Despite their conversation being pretty important, Sophie's just left her here to her own thoughts. She lets out a small growl, twists the cap off the bottle and throws it onto the counter before moving toward the living room to find her fiancée sitting on the sofa, typing away furiously on her Blackberry with a suspiciously large grin on her face.

God. Sometimes Sophie can be such a bitch.

"Sophie?" Santana calls, lifting a brow. "Were we not talking?"

Sophie doesn't look up as she responds, "You zoned out. I thought I'd just wait until you came back to earth," she explains, looking up with a smile.

And it relaxes Santana. She smiles to herself, shaking her head. _This _is the Sophie she fell in love with, and she knows she's always there but sometimes Santana just needs to wait it out to see her.

She heads toward the sofa, sitting beside Sophie and throwing an arm over the back behind her, whilst the other arm lays flat on her own thigh, the base of the bottle pressing against her knee cap. There's some stupid ass reality show on TV, but she's not too focused on that as she stares at Sophie, taking a long pull for a beer. After a long while, Sophie notices and slowly turns, the corners of her lips curving up slightly.

"What are you looking at?"

Santana toes off her shoes as she answers, "Something beautiful."

Sophie grins and pecks Santana's lips, staring her in the eye. "Love you."

"Ditto." Santana wiggles her hips, settling in properly to the sofa as Sophie's legs swing over, calves brushing Santana's pants, right over the crotch. Almost immediately, Santana jolts up, splashing a drop of beer onto the sofa as arousal sizzles through her.

"Whoa, San," Sophie blurts out, eyes wide. "What was that?"

She doesn't answer, instead just drops her head and vision towards her pants. There's a little bulge there and when she looks up, she's expecting to see an aroused glint in green eyes—it always happens—but when she does, Sophie's staring intently at her phone, tapping away and paying absolutely zero attention to Santana or the rise in her pants. What the fuck?

But she's too tired to argue, and undoubtedly saying something about how she's being blue balled right now would, so she exhales and drops back down to the sofa, settling for, "Nothing," as an answer.

Sophie's legs swing over her lap the second her ass hits the cushions, and after about five minutes, Sophie drops her phone to the floor and cuddles up to Santana, tucked beneath her arm. She presses a kiss to the top of Sophie's head and tugs her closer, both of them just sitting together, basking in togetherness and watching the mindless idiots on Jersey Shore screaming at each other. Snooki comes on screen, and instantly Santana thinks of Rachel Berry, and wonders if short people just have a knack for being incredibly annoying. Maybe it's encoded in their midget genes.

"What do you think about a winter wedding?"

Santana sips on her beer, thinking over it for a few seconds before humming in approval. "Yeah, I think that's good. But it's November now and that gives us like, less than a month to plan it."

She feels Sophie shrugs beneath her arm. "Yeah but like I said, I've already got everything planned out. The wedding planners we hired are really efficient."

"And expensive," Santana mutters beneath her breath.

"Anyway, all we need is the funds and then we have the go ahead." Sophie turns, presses a kiss to Santana's neck. "If that's okay with you."

Santana shifts, setting her beer bottle on the floor before twisting and pushing Sophie back onto the sofa, quickly settling between her legs. Her fiancée looks thoroughly confused by the motion, but then Santana smirks down at her and she presses their lips together, kissing her softly but making sure not to let her tongue slip into it because she knows once they cross that line, she'll be needing a very cold shower. She hates those things, and fuck, she's basically been living off them for weeks. There's always another option, but her wrist is aching recently and it's just nowhere near as satisfying. Not that a cold shower is, either, but you know.

She breaks the kiss, knowing she's about to get carried away and presses kisses down Sophie's neck, grinding her hips with conscious thought. It must be obvious to Sophie though because her body goes rigid the second Santana's bulge presses against the apex of her thighs. Heat pulses through her, sizzling over her skin and she can't contain herself as she pushes a little harder. She would say it's not her fault but it totally is; she's horny and doesn't want Mrs. Palmer and her five friends to be her jack off buddy anymore. It's lame, and incredibly unsatisfying when Santana just knows she has an incredibly gorgeous fiancée in her life.

Even if said fiancée isn't willing to do anything about the constant arousal.

"Santana," Sophie warns and Santana rolls her eyes, knowing that's as much as she's going to get tonight.

Moving over, she lets her back push against the cushions behind and opens her eyes, allowing Sophie to cuddle in. She does so, and Santana wraps her arms around Sophie shoulders and back as pale arms slide around her waist, tugging close. She takes a deep breath, licking her lips and trying to sway her thoughts to something that doesn't end in slow, sweaty sex on the sofa; and that's when the wedding comes back to mind.

"Sophie, can you not even ask your dad for a little donation?" She asks, keeping her voice calm and collected. It doesn't help that the matter at hand infuriates her, but she keeps it cool. "I mean, it's only fair."

Sophie sits up abruptly, body tensing as she glares down at her. "You don't think it's fair that we're paying for our own wedding," she accuses.

"Sophie," Santana tilts her head. "Don't twist my words. I'm just saying what if we pay half and half? We pay half, your dad pays the other. It's only fair, and it's not like I'm asking for much."

Green eyes narrow at her for a few seconds, as if they're deliberating Santana's words, and all Santana can do is sit there, awaiting some kind of argument. But it never comes.

"That sounds reasonable," Sophie shrugs, nonchalantly. "I'll talk to daddy tomorrow."

"Really?"

Sophie's never been one for backing down on something she's focused on, especially when it comes to money, and so it's not a surprise that Santana's voice comes out high pitched and laced with disbelief.

Sophie smiles as she leans up, pressing their lips together firmly. A small groan escapes Santana's lips as she allows her hand to slide down, stroking over Sophie's thigh and scratching lightly at the tight black leggings covering them, but Sophie just pulls away, snuggling back into her side and slowly batting the hand away. "Yeah, babe."

And so the wedding is planned.

* * *

><p><strong>Mid December 2018<strong>

Three raps at the door and Santana tosses the document across her desk, pushes her glasses further up her nose and calls _come in _to the little speaker.

"Miss Lopez?"

It's Jenny, her secretary standing at the door, fingers nervously playing with each other and lower lip quivering. Santana tilts her head to the side, observing her secretary and the atmospheric fear that's buzzing around her and she finds herself smiling. "Yes?"

"I—I—" Jenny gulps audibly. "Miss—Miss Mott—Motta is here."

Santana takes a moment to scan through her mind, trying to find a face for the name. Jenny's still standing their nervously, awaiting Santana to say something, and she has it admit, it's slightly entertaining watching someone squirm because of her presence; but when the face comes to mind, she really wishes it hadn't and rolls her eyes.

"Fine," she huffs. "Let her in."

Jenny nods and swiftly escapes out the door. Only seconds later, the bouncy brunette steps into the room dressed in bright pink jeans and a bright orange top. If she's going to be here, going to work her, that girl's going to need a personal stylist, or Santana needs to start wearing sunglasses to work. Those clothes are just too freaking bright and happy. Girl needs to tone it down.

"Santana," Sugar smiles, and nods at her as he walks towards the chair, plopping down in it without invitation. "Gerry said to come and talk to you about my contract."

Santana clenches her jaw and spins her chair, trying to hide her disinterest as she focuses on the sunlight beaming over the skyline outside her window. "What about it, Miss Motta?"

"Please, call me Sugar, and I'm not best pleased with it."

Santana hesitates, trying to find the right words and tone to reply to one of her clients in; she's never been one for informality, or lack of professionalism, but Sugar is _really _testing her and her patience. There's a small buzzing in the room, and Santana knows it's her phone, and groans because those damn wedding planners have been calling her repeatedly for weeks. Ever since she paid that fucking ridiculous amount of twenty five grand, and Sophie's dad paid the other half, the wedding plans have been severely rushed. Her phone's been ringing constantly, she's tired and overworked, and there's that same fucking ache in the pit of her stomach that no amount of cold showers or wandering hands can satiate.

"Santana?"

Right, the job. Not the time to be thinking about weddings.

"What isn't pleasing you, Sugar?"

There's a distinct aggression in her voice, and she knows that only Brittany would be able to detect it and suddenly wishes she were here right now. Brittany would make her feel better, be a stress relief. God, she misses Brittany.

Except Brittany isn't here, and so Santana takes in a deep breath, laces her own fingers together and rests them above her blouse covered stomach, twisting back around in the chair to face Sugar.

"Well, I need to get recording and you haven't booked me any studio time."

Santana pulls her eyebrows together. "You don't have any songs to sing."

"Which brings me to my next point," Sugar announces, crossing one leg over the other. "You're kind of crap at your job."

Brown eyes widen impossibly so. "_Excuse _me?"

"You're really bad at your job." Sugar smiles, thinks it over and shakes her head. "No, wait. Sorry," she shrugs, grinning. "Asperger's. You're not _that _bad, but you're just not good." She stares at her. "But I think that's a personal reason because you're jealous of how hot I am."

A small chuckle escapes Santana's mouth, and her eyes search the room, trying to find the camera's because she's pretty damn sure she'd being Punk'd right now. But the room's the same, all the glass panes are still large and daunting, her desk is in the center occupying a majority of the space and there's picture of her and Sophie, her and Brittany and her and her brother hanging on the available spaces on the wall. Nope, no Ashton Kutcher here.

"Erm, Sugar," Santana leans forward, forearms resting against the desk now. "You're wrong, and not just kind of wrong, but _really _wrong."

Sugar rolls her eyes, propping her feet up on the desk and Santana shoots the girl a frightening glare, which results in the removal of said propped feet.

"What else am I supposed to think?"

Santana can't quite believe what she's hearing. "Maybe you should think that you don't have anything to sing, therefore you can't record," she says, trying to be as patronizing as possible. "Unless you're planning on releasing an album with ten tracks of three minutes silence."

"Well, no, obviously," Sugar says, dipping her voice. "You need to hire me a lyricist," she suggest, smiling brightly.

Santana gets up from her desk, pushing off and walking toward the window, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Her other hand leans against the glass pane, and she scrunches her eyes shut at the frustration buzzing through her. How is this chick serious? Music is about writing songs, about finding passion and putting them into the lyrics, and the second that pops into her mind, so does that performer from a few weeks ago, Quinn Fabray. Was she right? Is the business Santana's working in just a money making scheme that doesn't care about music? Is that why Gerry hired this stupid bitch of a singer? If she can even be called a singer.

Disappointment surges through her as she thinks of it; maybe Quinn was right. Whatever happened to the meaningful lyrics and the soul behind the song? What happened to each lyric being written from the heart? _That's _what real music was about. _That's _why Santana got into this business, and it just doesn't seem like that anymore. This Sugar chick just seems like a plot to make copious amount of money on catchy tunes that teenagers can make fun of for weeks on end, annoying friends and parents with it. Just like that stupid Rebecca Black song.

She knows she might be overreacting, but she has reason to be. She's getting married tomorrow, and she has this stupid fucking artist from Shitsville, Ohio, coming to her and saying that _she's _doing a bad job when this chick is just in it for the money. That's not why Santana got into this business. She spent the majority of her childhood listening to music, bobbing her head to the beat, reading the lines between the words and watching as people danced to it, moving flawlessly and in time to the mean. It's one of the main reasons why she and Brittany got along so well, because not only could she move to the beat, but her body seemed to get the emotion behind the lyrics, too, no matter if it was a party hard tune by LMFAR or a heart-wrenching tale of heartache by Adele.

Santana was the music, the one that looked beyond the beat and into the meaning, and Brittany was the dance, who felt the words, felt those meaning and used her body to show them. It's what made them best friends. It's what connected them.

So listening to Sugar fucking Motta, talk about wanting a lyricist and hinting that she's only in it to gain some dollar off a song that rhymes fucking _Swagger _with _Jagger, really _fucks Santana off.

Which is what brings her to spit this out, "Why do you even want to be in this business?"

"Fame and fortune."

Santana spins around immediately, shaking her head like she can't believe what's happening. "Don't you care about the music? The lyrics? The meaning?"

Sugar blinks at her three times before throwing her head back and bursting into laughter, and what's worse is that Santana knows it's _at _her and not _with _her. It only succeeds in pissing her off even more and she doesn't have to hear a vocalized answer to know it's a no. SO before she does some serious damage to the girl, maybe putting her in hospital and gaining a criminal record of her own, Santana storms out the room.

Her feet are leading her toward her boss' office before she even remembers, and she marches through the office floor on a mission, a comical trail of dust brewing in the distance behind her from the speed she's going. Everyone seems to recognize the anger buzzing through her which is why she ends up getting to her boss' office sooner than she thought. She doesn't even have time to think of what she's going to say before she's bursting through the door and finding her boss, sitting on a chair with a gray sheet over his shoulders as a woman stands behind him, trimming the minimal amount of hair on his head.

And that just fucks her off even more. She can't believe that yesterday he was bitching to her about having so much work to do, and yet he's sitting here on work hours getting a fucking haircut. What a _dick._

"Santana!" Gerry yells as he spots her.

Santana rubs her hands together and tilts her head to the side, trying to figure out how she can say what she wants without swearing. "I've got a problem that I need to talk to you about."

Gerry nods, resting both hands together on his bloated stomach. "Go ahead."

"You hired and insult without consulting me," she starts. "And then she comes complaining _at _me and telling me that I'm crap at my job."

Her boss lets out a throaty laugh, waving the hairdresser off with a rude flick of her hand and then sits forward, offering out both hands, defensively. "I just saw her and _had _to sign her. I haven't ever seen shit like that," he tells her. "She's hot and the whole Asperger's act is freaking hilarious. It'll bring the label a new twist."

The irritation grows in the pit of Santana's stomach and she rolls her shoulders and cracks her knuckles, trying to suppress the fierce lashing she's seriously wanting to give her boss. Her heart pounds fast and hard against her ribcage, and she steps forward, cocking her hip against the back of the chair as she crosses her arms. She's not quite sure how to approach the subject without getting her ass fired. It's not usual that she's pissed off with her boss, and up until now she's pretty sure her visions been clouded, because in this moment, boss is smiling smugly at her, looking like a top asshole. It just pisses her off more.

"That's just a gimmick, Gerry. She has like no talent whatsoever." Her legs start leading her around the office in a slow pace and she emphasizes each word by waving her hands; but Gerry doesn't seem to care, and he just sits there, reaching over for a nail rile and running it over his disgusting, yellow nails like some thirteen year old girl. "She's—for lack of a better word—shit, Gerry. She's awful and will completely destroy the label"

Her boss looks up, raising both eyebrows and pauses his movements, beady eyes locked onto her. The hairdresser behind him ducks her head, sucking in both lips as if she's trying not to laugh and it calms Santana a bit. At least she knows she's getting her point across.

"Look, I went to see that act, Quinn Fabray, and she's amazing. She's talented, she sings songs that have meaning and she even writes her own lyrics. Honestly, she has heart and soul and she'll bring a new twist to this company that isn't a negative one. It's been relying on hip-hop for way too long Gerry, and Quinn can bring in some new flavor."

Once again, Gerry shrugs off his hairdresser and Santana shoots the woman an apologetic smile. The dismissal is only because she's obviously touching a nerve, and even though she should feel satisfied because of that, the hairdresser is ruining it. Damn it. She can't even catch a dam break.

"Santana, we're trying to sell records here."

"But—"

"People will actually buy Sugar's records because of her imagine. The music doesn't matter as long as we're producing records and rolling in the cash."

Santana's mouth drops open. Gerry continues to smile, and returns to filing his nails, and she's not quite sure what to make of this. She finds herself laughing incredulously before she can even think of a reply and laughs down at herself, flicking her vision up to find Gerry and his hairdresser staring at her quizzically. Apparently Quinn was right. This business is just a money making scheme and now that she's finally seen it for herself, she finds herself thoroughly pissed off with herself and questioning her position here at Millennium Records.

"See, Santana," Gerry leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. "I need that MTV rotation, and Sweet—"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Her name is Sugar."

"Whatever," Gerry dismisses her in the same manner that he dismissed his hairdresser and Santana cocks her head to the side, trying to find something to focus on that isn't the burning urge to punch her boss in his fat nose. She can't do that, and even though she's deliberating her employment here anyway, she doesn't want to go on a bad note, with a criminal record and with bruised knuckles. "But she'll get shit done, and _that's _what we need."

Santana scoffs. "Yeah, I can totally see her doing a cover of _Big Spender _as her big debut," she mutters, sarcastically.

Gerry shoots up from his chair, claps his hands together. "Exactly!" He agrees, strongly. "Now _that's _why I hired you, Lopez. You're good."

Santana's face drop instantly, her quaking hand fisting the bottom of her blazer and the other clutching her bicep. She was only fucking kidding about that. "Are you _serious?_" She almost hisses, narrowing her eyes.

Her boss just nods and laughs loudly, and it does nothing to quell Santana's anger as she rubs her hands across her face, trying to push away the red that's flashing behind her eyelids. She can feel herself getting worked up, her breathing picking up and she twists her neck, hearing the crack as she raises her eyebrow. She needs to calm down.

"You actually want me to do this?"

"Well," Gerry's face turns stern as one hand comes up to remove the gray sheet from around his neck. "If you want to work at Millennium Records then you will. It's what we do here." He throws the sheet toward his hairdresser blindly. "We make the hits, we get the money, we get rich." He stabs his finger into his other palm, marking the points as he makes them. "And if you want to feel the music, or whatever shit you want to do, you go to Virgin or Columbia." He glares at her. "But we make the profit, and we get the money in. So it's your choice, Santana, whether you want to do this."

Closing her eyes, Santana begins to take in deep, calming breaths. She can just imagine Brittany leaning in next to her, whispering _calm down _into her ear and already she feels herself calm down a little, already feels a cool wave crash over the bubbling anger curdling with her stomach. So she opens her eyes, but finds Gerry closer than before, standing in front of her with one of his cake holder hands moving to her shoulder, resting on the blouse there. She immediately reacts with a cringe, and she swallows hard, trying not to move away in disgust because she just knows from that position, he can see down at her cleavage and she swears if she even sees his eyes flit down there, she's gonna hit him.

"Look, Santana. Take the rest of the day off. I'll deal with Sweet—" Santana rolls her eyes and doesn't even bother correcting him again. "And you go and marry that fine ass woman of yours." He shakes her a little. "Have a nice honeymoon, and we'll talk when you get back."

She would love to object, shout at him, and maybe give him a backhander or two, or even kick him _really _hard in the groin, but the image of her fiancée walking down the aisle comes to mind, and she finds herself not wanting to argue.

All anger dissolves immediately, and she runs her finger through her hair, exhaling loudly through her nose as she nods. "Yeah, okay."

With that, she walks out.


	5. chapter five

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Five]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>9700

* * *

><p>Santana's not entirely sure how she got here, why she's here, when the hell it got so damn dark or what the hell she's been doing in the past eight hours since she left her office.<p>

All she knows right now, is that it's 11pm, and she's standing outside Brittany's apartment, staring at the door like she's trying to use mind powers to open it.

Her cell phone has been buzzing constantly in her pocket for the past few hours, but she knows it's probably just Sophie worrying about her and wondering where the hell she is; but Santana doesn't really want to talk to her. The text she sent after leaving her office was pretty vague—running along the lines of _I've been told to leave work_—but it has enough information in her opinion, and honestly, she doesn't really care if Sophie's worrying. Not right now, anyway.

The only thing other she's remotely aware of is that she probably shouldn't be here. It's not like she's not allowed to be, it's just one hell of a statement that she came to her best friend's house after being dismissed from work, instead of going home and spending the rest of her day with her fiancée whom she's getting married to tomorrow. It definitely says something, even if Santana's not sure _what _it says.

But she doesn't even have enough time to figure it out, or decide whether she's going to knock or just walk away because the door to Brittany's apartment swings open, and suddenly there's Brittany, standing in front of her with her hair tied into a messy bun on her head, zero make-up on and an incredibly small towel wrapped around her body, covering all the pieces that shouldn't exposed, but leaving little to the imagination.

Santana guesses the just interrupted Brittany before a shower, because she's like almost one hundred percent sure that Brittany's probably naked under that towel, or almost naked, but she doesn't really think about that. All she thinks about is how Brittany's showing _a lot _of skin and because they've been best friends for seventeen years, Santana knows that the skin that _is _covered is probably done so by _incredibly _skimpy, verging-on-the-edge-of-non-existent, underwear. Fabric that is way too expensive considering the amount, but is sexy as hell and Santana gulps loudly, knowing she's thinking about her best friend in a way she most definitely _shouldn't _be.

(It doesn't help that when they were eighteen, Santana walked in on Brittany in a pair of very small, lacy, black lingerie.)

She manages to tear her eyes away, realizing she's leering, too and squeezes her eyes shut. Damn this fucking no sex rule.

"San?" Brittany calls, waving her hand in front of Santana's face. "What are you doing here?"

Letting out a small chuckle, Santana looks at her best friend, sees the worry and lets it sink in. She feels comfortable now that she's with Brittany, and not angry like she has been all day long. "How did you know I was here?"

"Instinct," Brittany replies with a grin, one hand holding up the edge of the towel whilst the other is still holding the door open. "Are you coming in or shall I just leave the door open so you can let all my heating out?"

Santana giggles in response and brushes past the blonde, shrugging off her bomber jacket and throwing it over the back of the sofa.

It's the first time she's actually been in Brittany's apartment since she moved to New York, and she takes a moment to smile at the things that just _scream _Brittany. The half drunken cups of coffee on any available flat surface, the various gossip magazines next to them, the few unpacked boxes next to the small bookcase behind her stacked with DVD's and various Shakespearean books that Brittany loves. Not to mention the soft vanilla scent flowing from the kitchen which tells Santana that Brittany was baking earlier.

Damn. She already feels less pissed off than before just being in here.

"So," Brittany perches on the arm of the chair after shutting the door. "What's up?"

Santana groans and chucks herself down on the sofa, legs sprawled out across the width of it whilst she buries her nose into the crook of her elbow. "You know that chick from the gig? Sugar something?"

Brittany hums and a small smile graces Santana's face. "Well, Gerry signed her, like you know, and she came into my office today and complained at me."

She feels Brittany move, and sit next to her hip. A few of Brittany's fingers brush against her forehead seconds later, and she removes her arm to look up into bright blue eyes.

"Why didn't you go to Gerry about it then?" Brittany asks softly, cocking her head to the side.

"I did," Santana sighs. "And he basically told me that he was in it for the profit, not the music."

Brittany pinches her lips up at the side, brows furrowing. "I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"Britt, please spare me the bullshit," Santana mumbles, making sure she doesn't let out her anger on her best friend with an infuriated tone. "I know you think it, too. I could feel that look from a mile away when we were backstage."

The blonde shuffles, and Santana feels the top of her thigh brush against the clad-covered towel of her best friends back. It's too close, and it's hard enough knowing her _incredibly _attractive best friend is sitting next to her in virtually _nothing. _She groans, and almost panics until she knows if Brittany questions it, she can blame it on the anger. Her eyes crack open the smallest bit and see a pink bottom lip disappear between brilliantly white teeth.

Damn. Santana's never noticed how pink those lips are.

"Honey, it's not your fault. Didn't you say you were thinking about leaving Millennium anyway?"

Santana closes her eyes and throws her arm over her face again. Yes, she had said she was thinking about leaving Millennium, but that was before the cost of the wedding, before the damn economy went up, and before she started thinking about money and everything it entails—clothes, food, bills and all that other stuff.

"Yeah, I know, and I was ready to as well but then I just thought about money and just—" she breathes out deeply, and she can even hear the anger as she does so. "I can't. Sophie wants this big ass wedding, and I had to pay for half of it, instead of her damn dad paying all of it like he fucking should."

Her hearts pounding hard, and she gulps, feeling the tears well up behind her eyes. She can't cry. She _won't _cry_. _Sure, the last few weeks have been ridiculously frustrating, there's been a constant ache attacking her brain, and she's formed an immunity to pain relief because of her high consumption, but crying won't solve it and she doesn't want to look pathetic. She's getting married tomorrow for fuck sake, she should be happy, excited, bouncing around like a rabbit on speed. Not practically sobbing on her best friend's sofa, being comforted by said best friend.

But Sophie has constantly been on her back, and now work is getting fucking harder and it's all getting too much to take. The only thing that's actually kept a smile on her face is the girl she's sitting next to now and the only reason she's actually smiled in the last few weeks, is because of Brittany, too. But all the aggravation still makes her feel like she's underwater, like she can't breathe or get out. All the stress is still making the room blur as it spins violently and it's too much. And each one of her damn breaths for the last month or so, have sounded like fucking drums in her ears and she just wants to get rid of all of it.

Which is probably why she's here right now.

"I punked out," she breathes. "Like a chump." Santana scolds herself, wishing there was a brick wall she could bang her head against a few times. Maybe that would help.

Cool fingers graze against the inside of her wrists, and she allows them to tug away her arm, covering her face. Brittany stares down at her, shaking her head with an eyebrow raised. "You didn't punk out, San."

"I did."

Brittany blinks. "No, you didn't."

Santana's the one to raise an eyebrow this time. "You have to admit I punked out a little bit." Brittany shakes her head again. "Come on, not even a bite size, tiny, miniscule bit?"

The blonde's mouth drops down at the sides and tighten like she's trying to hide what she's about to say and Santana takes that as a _yeah okay. _She drops her arm back over her face and groans loudly into the crook of her elbow. For fuck sake. Why couldn't she have just left Millennium right there and then? Nothing's keeping her there, she could've just left and not looked back.

Fuck.

"See," Santana growls, sitting up and away from her best friend so her back's propped up against the arm of the sofa. "Even you think it."

Brittany scoots closer, grabs both of Santana's hands and laces their fingers together. It feels like her palm is burning, the feel of heat and cold mixing together. It's strange for a few seconds, but not uncomfortable, and initial shock fades quickly, leaving her feeling comforted. Plus, it calms her brain, and no doubt if she was telling Sophie this, she'd be biting Santana's head off and lecturing her.

This is what she loves about Brittany.

"San," Brittany whispers, bringing one of their clasped hands up to tilt her chin up. "San, look at me."

Santana takes a deep breath in and runs her tongue along the back of teeth before looking up through her lashes into bright blue eyes. The room stops spinning immediately, and she no longer feels like she's drowning. Everything that's been causing this disorientation for the past few weeks has just blurred out into the background now, all because of her best friend. All because of Brittany. That's what best friends do, it's not out of the ordinary.

(Right?)

"Everyone sells out sometimes, you can't hate yourself for getting stressed and caving. Even the best of us do it," Brittany reasons. "Not that you're not the best, because you are. You're pretty awesome, but it's just how you survive through your career."

Santana grins and rubs her thumb over the smooth skin of Brittany's hand. Her eyes fall upon their threaded fingers, watching the marvelous mix of complexions, caramel and cream and it's like some delicious candy that your grandpa used to give you when you were young and sat by his feet on Christmas morning. It makes her happy, and it must show on Santana's face because Brittany giggles and she finds the blonde grinning widely, showing every tooth on the top row of her teeth.

"I've done it."

Santana frowns. "Done what?"

"Sold out," Brittany explains. "I went out for a date with the head of Pineapple studios to get an interview."

Something twinges in the pit of Santana's stomach and she almost jerks in reaction. but then Brittany squeezes her hands, before dropping them and standing up, tucking one side of the towel underneath her arm and holding it together by her thigh, with the other.

Santana just ignores the tingling in her palm, craving for Brittany's touch again and buries her face into her hands. "When did it all get so complicated? I mean, all I wanted to do was music, and now I'm not doing that. I'm just being used as a cog in some money-making machine with some fat ass ordering me around."

It comes out as a muffle, mostly because her lips are pressed into her palms and she feels Brittany move around the room. The air in front of her warms, and fingers curl around her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. Her eyes squint quickly at the light intrusion, before glancing up and landing on her best friend standing above her.

She needs a hug from Brittany, because she's in one of _those _moods, like she's on the edge of the Earth, watching her life fall off it, piece by piece until they float around carelessly in gravity like nothing in her life matters. And there's nothing stopping her from joining them, detaching herself from the world and falling into the pit of nothingness. Not unless she gets a hug from her best friend, not unless her best friend secures her to the Earth, pulling them together like they're one.

It's an intense feeling, one that only Brittany can give her and it's like nothing she's felt before. She used to question that, used to wonder just how deep that feeling ran but she knows it's just what best friends do. It's what best friends are for and that's what they've always been, and always will be.

"Come here," Brittany demands softly, tugging at her wrists until Santana pulls up. It's almost freaky how she can read Santana and sometimes she does wonder whether Brittany is telepathic.

Her arms wrap around Brittany's body, pulling tightly so they're flush against each other. Brittany slides her arms around her neck, pulling tightly too so her chin rests on a pale shoulder. Blonde hair tickles the end of her nose, but she doesn't care; she needs that life-saving hug. She needs to be routed down to Earth and that's what she's getting.

"You'll be alright," Brittany utters quietly, breath beating against her neck. "Just trust yourself."

She feels one of Brittany's hands run up the nape of her neck, and slide through her dark locks until they tangle there, securing them together like she never wants to break from this hug. Brittany's body is warm against hers, even through the few layers of fabric and her heart warms with it, like she's been cold for so long, and Brittany's the heat she's been searching for. Her best friend's scent intoxicates her, and instead of the room spinning, her mind starts spinning and she loves it. She loves the effect Brittany has on her, like she's special because she's a better person when she's around Brittany. It's not the first time she's felt like this either.

"Do you remember when we went to that Indigo Girls concert?"

Brittany hums.

"That was a good night," Santana breathes as she squeezes Brittany tighter. She feels safe, wrapped up in her best friends arms just makes her feel more secure and comfortable than she's ever been before. It's like she can smile and be goofy and not worry about stupid weddings, and honeymoons and making sure she performs correctly.

Oh, shit.

That reminds her.

"San?" Brittany asks as she pulls away and looks deeply into Santana's eyes, only inches away from her face. "What's wrong?"

Again, she doesn't even need to say anything to let Brittany know something's wrong. Her eyes dart from each bright blue eye and she bites her bottom lip, suddenly nervous about tomorrow.

"I don't know... I—I was just thinking about tomorrow."

The blonde steps away, putting a good meter between them before she readjusts her towel. Santana sits down once more, and rests on hand on her thigh whilst the other rubs at the side of her neck, eyes staring at the floor intently. It hits her that not only is she going to be married tomorrow, but she's got to live up to this _amazing _night Sophie's been planning. For weeks Sophie's been going on about how good the wedding night will be, how the lack of sex will be made up for.

What if she doesn't live up to it?

She's never been conscious of her sexual skills before, or ability to please her partner either, but ever since the no sex rule came up—and they ended up having heavy make-out sessions on the kitchen floor, sofa, wherever available—Sophie's pulled away and said '_it'll be worth it_'. But what if Sophie's been building up for so long, that it's just a disappointment? Like when a film comes out, and everyone rants about it for ages and says how good it is and and then finally when you see it, you kind of find yourself wondering what the big deal was.

Fuck.

What if it's like that?

What if she's shit?

Damn, if she wasn't freaking out enough, now she is.

"Britt?" There's a distinct edge of panic to her voice, and she clears her throat, trying to push it away.

"I'm here," Brittany reassures, heading towards Santana and kneeling in front of her. Santana looks up, brown meeting blue and pale and caramel fingers threading together. "You'll be fine, I'm here."

She breathes out heavily and feels her body deflate a little. There's a balloon of pressure building on her chest and it's causing her vision to blur. She squeezes her eyes shut, just feeling the smooth thumb pad running over her head, the hot breath blanketing her face as Brittany rests their foreheads together and it relaxes her a bit, but it still doesn't help.

Until she has an idea.

"Britt," she takes in a shaky breath. "What do, um—" she coughs. "What would you…" She searches through her mind, trying to find the right word. "What would you suggest to make tomorrow—um," Cough. "What would you to to make tomorrow night like, amazing?"

The whole situation isn't foreign to Santana. She and Brittany have talked about sex and even traded damn stories, but there's something awkward about asking her now. The last time they talked about having sex, Santana ended up being incredibly turned on and had to run to the bathroom to bang one out. That was something she'd never forget. It's not like she's a guy and gets turned at every available thing because she's still a woman. She still has the mind of a woman, just the genitalia of a man, but sometimes she does get a little more turned on than normal women should.

Brittany pulls away, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Santana shuffles and coughs again. Fuck, the nervous coughs are getting pretty annoying. "Like, you know the whole no sex rule with me and Sophie?"

Brittany nods, as if she's pretending to get where Santana's going and Santana taps her foot on the ground a few times, unable to prevent it from moving nervously. She takes her bottom lip between her teeth and chews, wondering how she can ask Brittany for advice without _actually _asking because that's kind of embarrassing.

"Yeah…" Brittany draws out the word.

Should Santana just come out with it? Brittany isn't going to judge her, and damn, she knows that. Brittany didn't even blink an eye when Santana told her in middle school that she owned _"__what boys do down there"_ and especially when she said _"I'__m gay,"_ Brittany hugged her and said, "_we have half of that in common then"_, so she knows that saying she's worried won't affect Brittany.

But it's still feels weird.

"What if I don't meet her expectations?"

Glancing up at her best friend, she thinks that Brittany doesn't get it, but as she opens her mouth again, blue eyes widen and fair eyebrows rise. Guess she does.

"Um, I'm sure you'll meet her... _E__xpectations, _San. It's not like it's your guys first time together."

Santana shrugs, still not convinced. "Yeah, but it's our first time as a married couple; and if tomorrow night doesn't go well then, I mean, she's gonna flake on me and think that's how _it _will be for the rest of our lives."

"You're being silly, Santana."

Brittany turns and leans her back against the bookshelf, staring at Santana like this is a normal conversation that best friends have every single day.

"Look," Santana starts, looking everywhere in the room that isn't Brittany. "Could you like…"

Brittany cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes. "Could I what?"

"_Givemesometips."_

* * *

><p>Santana doesn't bother looking up to gauge her best friend's reaction. Instead she focuses intently on her nail cuticles and listens to Brittany shuffle around. There's nothing but silence for about seventy four seconds,and when the silence gets too much, she forces herself to look up, only to find Brittany no longer standing by the bookshelf. All the nerves flush straight out her body as she searches the room, and she turns her head in swift motions from side to side, trying to find her best friend. Where the hell did she go?<p>

"Britt-Britt?"

Brittany waltzes back into the room, no longer wearing a towel but instead sporting a pair of gray sweats and a baggy black t-shirt. She's got her arms bent in the air as she ties up her damp, blonde hair into a loose ponytail, and Santana only grows more curious as to what the hell she's doing.

"Uh, Britt?"

"Yeah?" Brittany responds in the same old cheerful manner, joining Santana on the sofa, one leg tucked under the other so their knees are brushing.

"What are you doing? Where did you go?"

Brittany picks at a loose thread of the sofa. "To get changed, obviously."

"I see that," Santana says with a smile. "But weren't we in the middle of a conversation?"

"Well I couldn't give you sex tips in a towel now could I? Remember what happened last time I gave you tips?"

Santana frowns in disapproval. "I'm not a guy, Britt. I don't get turned on every two seconds."

"I know," Brittany reassures. "You're not a guy. I wasn't saying that. You just seem a little more on edge now since the whole no sex thing was put in place."

It's pissing her off, but she knows Brittany would never call her a guy. She's not like that, and she remembers the last person that called her a guy after he caught her 're-adjusting' herself and made a crude comment about whether she was sorting out her dick down there. Skipping to the end, he ended up walking away, clutching his nose to stop the blood from streaming out, and Santana remembers telling Brittany, and how angry Brittany had got at that guy before Santana even managed to get to the end of her tale.

"I think your words were, '_I'm like a lizard, I need sometime warm beneath me or I can't digest my food,'_" Brittany recites with a grin.

A chuckling Santana replies, "Yeah, I remember."

"Right, well, um, tell me if you get a little—" blue eyes lock onto her groin. "_Uncomfortable _during this conversation," she winks. "Just tell me and I'll send you to the nearest bathroom."

Brittany reaches across and tucks an errant strand of Santana's hair behind her ear and Santana fights the urge to lean into the touch, instead resting her back against the arm of the sofa once more. What the hell is wrong with her? And what the hell is that tingling feeling in her stomach? Maybe she ate something funny earlier.

"So anyway, teach me, wise one."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

It feels like high school all over again. Brittany telling Santana how to make a girl come, what way she should twist her fingers or thrust towards to hit _that _spot or how a rolling of her tongue could send a girl into the most earth-shattering orgasm she will ever encounter; but this time around, it makes her feel just that slightest bit uncomfortable and she doesn't know why.

Santana shrugs, not sure of what she wants. "I don't know."

Brittany sits forward, arms resting on her crossed legs. "Well, is your aim to make love to her or make her come in under two minutes?"

"Make love, I think."

"Well done," Brittany muses. "Part one complete."

"Shut up," Santana mumbles, crossing her arms and feigning a frown. "This is embarrassing."

"San, we've done this like millions of times before. The only thing that's changed is the skill level and practice."

There's a weird grumbling feeling in the pit of her stomach, and thoughts of Brittany with other guys flash through her mind. They're unwanted, and frankly, pretty damn unpleasant. She doesn't want anyone touching her best friend like th—Wait… What?

"So, suck it up." Brittany adds with a smile, cutting Santana off from her wandering mind. "First, you're going to want to start slow and sensual, so maybe foreplay?"

Santana nods. "Okay."

"Right, well, first start off by kissing her gently, sliding your hand behind her neck and securing your faces together, like you never want to stop what you're doing. You need to make sure she feels safe, and comfortable."

Santana shifts uncomfortably. It's like Brittany's explaining to Santana how to take someone's virginity again. "Britt, you're making it sound like Sophie's a virgin."

Brittany shrugs. "Well if you want to make love to her, you're going to have to pretend she's a virgin. That's how soft, gentle and caring you've got to be. I mean, you've made love to her before haven't you?"

Santana frowns and thinks back on all of the time she's slept with Sophie. Each one of the times, they've mostly been frantic and needy. Come to think of it, she can't actually remember a time where she was thinking _shit, we're making love _because she'd remember that. That's a pretty big thing.

Blue eyes widen. "You _haven't_ made love to her?"

"What's the difference anyway?" Santana says, trying to wave of the daunting realization.

Brittany leans forward and rests her hands on top of Santana's. "Trust me, you'll know when you do it."

"So—" she clears her throat. "You've made love with someone?"

The blonde laughs throatily and removes her hands, settling back. "No," she shakes her head, smiling. "To make love to someone, you have to be _in love _with them and I've never been in love." She shrugs. "Plus I know what it's like to fuck, and to have sex."

Santana's face contorts with shock horror. There's a difference between _fucking _and _having sex? _What!?

"And yes, there's a difference between those two as well."

Completely shocked by this information, Santana leans forward further until she's about ten inches away from Brittany's face. "There is?"

It makes her feel stupid. It's like she's a virgin all over again, learning about the ins and outs of sex, learning where to stick _it_, and what to expect. It makes her uncomfortable, and her hands fiddle with themselves to reflect the emotion. Why does this feel like sex education all over again?

Brittany nods. "Yeah, like, if you're fucking someone, you're on a mission to get yourself off. You're taking control and doing whatever you want to make sure you come and most of the time kissing isn't involve. Kind of a friends with benefit type relationship."

Santana's eyes widen comically, and she's pretty sure her mouth is going to catch flies soon as it's hanging open _that _wide.

"If you're having sex with someone, you like them, you respect them enough and it's getting both of you off. You're both aiming for the same goal: to come, one after the other, or sometimes at the same time if you're skilled involved. Most of them time the two people kiss, but it's sloppy and frantic because of you know," Brittany smirks. "The thrusting."

Santana nods, and wishes she had a damn notebook or something to note this down in. Even though she's getting married tomorrow, this is like valuable information and wants to memorize it. Sure, she's definitely had her fair share of sex but now she's re-evaluating all the times and marking them up against this description that Brittany's giving her, and she doesn't like what comes to mind when thinking about Sophie and the last time they had sex.

Well, apparently _not _having sex. They were fucking.

"And if you're making love to someone, you're in love with them. You'd do absolutely anything to make sure they reach their goal, and that they have the most amazing orgasm they've ever had."

Blue eyes soften, and Santana gulps. Her heartbeat picks up in speed, and she finds her swallowing against a thickened throat. Brittany's staring at her with cloudy blue eyes, sparkling and beautiful. She's never really taken a long amount of time to look into those eyes, because last time she did—about four summers ago—she blurted out that she thought they should give it a go, like go on a date and see how things went. It was a long time ago, but she knew she had felt something more for than friendship for Brittany, and now she's thinking about it, she's not sure when it went away. Or even if it has—

_No. _Of course it's gone away. It has to have donebecause she's with Sophie.

Right?

"You don't care about yourself," Brittany continues, voice soft. "And your bodies mold together like they're meant to fit. You do everything you can to make it special. You kiss every available piece of skin with gentle lips. You move your hands and bodies slowly and sensually, and you make sure you look into her eyes as you drag out the movements and try to hit _that _spot."

Brittany licks her lips, and Santana feels her throat thicken further. She never did know the elaborated reason why Brittany had rejected her proposal of a date, and she doesn't know why she's thinking of it. It had hurt when she heard the _no _more than she thought it would. She remembers the way her chest felt like it was giving in on her, like the blood was draining away from her being and heart aching, even though nothing had happened between them. And sure, Santana knew Brittany thought it was '_because they were too good friends', _and_ 'anything more would jeopardize their friendship,'_ she felt like there was something more there. Something Brittany wasn't telling her, something she didn't know and she'd never thought to question it.

Not until now anyway. Not until she's here, staring deeply into Brittany's eyes like she can see straight into her soul; like nothing else exists and it's just them, and it seems like Brittany loves that, too. Don't get her wrong, Santana's always known their friendship wasn't a standard one, because it was always like there was something more there, something more that other best friends didn't have. Maybe it's because they know each other better than they know themselves. Maybe it's because Brittany's the only one that's ever truly been accepted into Santana's family—and that's pretty damn hard to do—but whatever it is, it makes them special.

"If you make love to someone, you'll feel everything they feel, and sometimes you'll tumble over the edge together and it'll feel like the most magical thing to have ever happened between you two." Brittany's eyes bore into Santana's. "It'll link you together, connect you, and you'll always have that special tether between you because of it."

It's not until now that Santana finds herself looking at Brittany in the same way, like nothing else exists. Her eyes are tracing every move Brittany makes, the subtle brushes of hair, the slow, heavy pants escaping her mouth, even the small shade of red flushing her cheeks. If she didn't know any better, she'd think—

No. It can't be.

Wait... Is Brittany's turned on?

"Wow," she breathes, a mixture between surprise and what she can only feel to be some tense, deep arousal. "That's, um... That's intense."

Brittany breathes out quickly and clears her throat. "Yeah," she says with a smile. "Intense." She shifts, straightens up. "So, does that help?"

Technically, it doesn't really help because Santana's still not sure of what the hell she's supposed to do. It's not like she was looking for gruesome details—well, okay, she kind of was—but she needs a bit more than that. Except now she can feel herself heating up, and she's not sure she could go on; she doesn't need to make herself seem like some sex crazed monkey.

So she settles for a nod and a quick smile, hiding the arousal lingering within. "Yeah, um, thanks."

Brittany grins back and they both delve into silence. Santana's eyes dart around the room, and she coughs before looking at her phone.

"Shit!" She mutters, jumping up from the sofa. "It's 1am!"

Blue eyes stare at her, confused. "So?"

"I'm getting married in like, twelve hours."

Saying the words, she doesn't actually feel nervous or uneasy which is kind of weird. She finds herself looking at Brittany like she's searching for some sort of reaction, but there's nothing, and she doesn't know why she was looking. "Sophie's going to be _pissed._"

"Why?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Because I'm not home."

"You're not supposed to see the bride on her wedding day. It's bad luck."

"I know."

Brittany pushes off the couch and joins Santana in the center of the room, lacing their fingers together. "So, unless you feel like sleeping on a park bench, I suggest we get you to bed."

No reaction reaches her face, even though she's pretty sure her heart just stopped and her palms are getting clammy. The blue eyes in front of her are soft, and weirdly warm despite the connotations that come with the color. "Are you sure?"

"You're my best friend," Brittany tells her, moving away and picking up a few books from inside one of the unpacked boxes. "And you're getting married tomorrow, so we're going to put these books away, and then we're going to bed, okay?"

Santana manages to nod, and she doesn't know why the hell she's reacting so weirdly. They've had millions of sleepovers, throughout their childhood and teenage hood—or whatever it's called—and they practically shared Brittany's room. But maybe it's because they're _not _children or teenagers anymore. They're twenty four. They're adults, and they're having a sleepover. If that isn't unusual, she doesn't know what is.

But then again, since when has their friendship ever been usual?"

"Sure Britt," Santana walks over to the box and picks up a few books, loading them into the half-empty bookshelf. "Thank you."

Brittany shrugs and bumps their shoulders together with a grin. "No problem."

* * *

><p>It's 2am when they head towards Brittany's room.<p>

They've never slept apart, but they're adults so Santana just assumes that her best friend has a blow up mattress or a few blankets she can sleep on. The hardwood floor in December isn't exactly the warmest thing in the world but she doubts they'd be sleeping in the same bed together, but when they arrive in Brittany's room—which is Brittany much the grown up version of Brittany's teenage bedroom—she just hands Santana a t-shirt and boxers and smiles sweetly, not going into the cupboard to fetch the blow up mattress Santana knows Brittany has stored away.

"Uh, Britt?" Santana asks warily. "Are we going to be sleeping in the same bed?"

Brittany's narrow-eyed as she turns. "Is that a problem?"

"No, it's cool." She wanted to say yes, because truthfully, her gut is telling her it is a problem. Sophie probably wouldn't be happy about it, but in all honesty ,the way she's feeling now she doesn't care. Brittany's her best friend and so what if they sleep in the same bed? It's not like they're going to have sex or make out or anything.

"Good." Brittany smiles and winks before disappearing into the bathroom.

Santana makes quick work of her clothes, relieved when her member is freed from its skin-tight confinement and slips on the boxers. She expects to find her at least _slightly _hard, because the feeling she got when Brittany was talking about making love was like the one she gets whenever she's aroused; but as she sees herself flaccid, she furrows her brows and wonders what the hell that feeling was. Like butterflies, but tingling butterflies. Maybe even fireflies. Strange.

Her phone starts beeping on the floor, and she looks down to see the light illuminate through the fabric of her pants pocket. It's not clear, but she can make out the fuzzy image of her and Sophie popping up on screen and so she bends down and picks it up. A quick glance over her shoulder tells her that Brittany's still in the bathroom, so she slides quietly out the bedroom door and into the hallway.

"Hey," Santana whispers into the phone. "You alright?"

"_Where are you?"_

Well that was a warm welcoming. _"_I'm staying out for the night. It's past midnight, and we can't see each other before the big day now can we?" Santana says with a grin.

Sophie sighs on the end of the phone. _"I miss you, babe."_

"I miss you, too, but we'll see each other later. I'll be the one in white." Santana grins and fiddles with the hem of her top.

"_So will I, Santana." _Sophie muses, chuckling lightly. _"But I won't be tomorrow night."_

It sends shivers down Santana's spine and she licks her lips after gulping loudly. "Sophie, you can't do that to me."

"_I'll stop the teasing when you start the pleasing."_

It sounds like some lame Celibacy Club slogan and she finds herself snorting at her fiancée; but an unamused hum comes down the phone, and she bites both lips, holding it in. "Can't wait."

"_Me neither."_

Santana hears some rustling down the end of the phone, and she furrows her brows when she's pretty sure she hears the echo of someone calling Sophie's name. "Is someone there with you?"

"_Nope," _Sophie answers a little too quickly.

Suspicion runs through Santana, but then she hears the click of the bathroom door opening and knows Brittany's out. "I gotta go, okay?"

"_Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Love you."_

Santana smiles. "Yeah, looking forward to it. Love you, too."

The phone rings out and Santana tucks it into the waistband of her boxers as she creeps back into Brittany's bedroom. She cracks the door open slowly, not entirely sure why she's doing so as she knows Brittany's awake, but does it anyway.

"Was that Sophie?" The voice is soft and if Santana didn't know any better, she could swear it's sad, too.

She sidles up to the left side of the bed, knowing Brittany's on the right and slides in next to the source of the voice. "Yeah."

The covers lie gently on top of her stomach and she folds her hands to keep it there. Years of sharing a bed with Brittany, Santana knows the blonde is a sheet-stealer, and she always used to wake up shaking from the cold, and she'll be damned if after all these years it happens again.

"Is she okay?" Brittany asks softly, twisting until she's on her side and facing Santana.

Santana feels the gaze on her, and she knows Brittany can sense her distress. It's silly, she shouldn't be getting suspicious of her fiancée, or who her fiancée's with because it's the night before their wedding for fuck sake. Plus, Sophie's trustworthy, and loyal. It's ridiculous to even _think_ that Sophie's hiding something from her, but it doesn't stop her from worrying, and feeling the strange tingle in the pit of her stomach; even if that tingle has never been wrong before.

Santana rolls her head to the side, and even in the darkness she can see her best friend's blue eyes. "Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

Santana hums, but knows ultimately her bullshit is going to be called on. "Yeah."

Pale fingers creep onto her forearm, and trail an invisible line on the inside of her wrist, up her forearm until the crook of her elbow, where it stops and slides back down, repeating the circuit. Her body relaxes into the touch, and her heart beat quickens.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

She returns her eyesight to the ceiling and bites on her bottom lip. "No, Britt, I do. I just—" She pauses. "I thought I—" She doesn't know how to say it without sounding like a pathetic, jealous wife, when she isn't even one yet. "I thought I heard—"

When the words fail to come out properly, due to her thinking it's ridiculous for the thoughts to even be in her mind, Brittany props herself up on her elbow and looks down at Santana. "You thought you heard what?"

"I thought I heard someone when I was on the phone."

Brittany tilts her head curiously. "Like who?"

Santana shrugs. "I'm not sure," she sighs. "I'm probably just getting cold feet and trying to think of things to freak me out."

She feels Brittany press her toes to her own, and she actually realizes she _does _actuallyhave cold feet. Brittany giggles and flinches slightly, before moving in and snuggling into Santana's side. It's something they've always done though, so it's not strange. Throughout the winter nights as teenagers they'd always end up snuggling and cuddling, trying to get some type of warmth because neither of them wanted to get up to turn the heating on, so this is just like standard procedure.

"You _do _have cold feet, San," Brittany says, brightly.

Santana laughs and throws her arm over her best friend's shoulder, pulling them closer together. "Then you can be my human size pair of socks."

She feels Brittany pick at the fabric of her top, and soft skin graze against the slither of skin between her boxers and top and _oh shit, _she's suddenly hyper-aware of how Brittany's touching her, how Brittany looked earlier and how close they are. She doesn't know what she's feeling, the physical signs are sweaty palms, an accelerated heart beat and a thickened throat but what the hell does that mean? Is it she sick?

"Britt, can you feel my forehead?"

When Brittany looks up at her, she's not really sure why, but she can't seem to tear herself away from the blonde. "Sure. Are you not feeling good?"

She nods.

"Okay," Brittany whispers, raising her hand until the back of it presses against Santana's forehead.

There's instant relief, because Brittany's hand is soft, and cool, and it feels really fucking good. Maybe even a little too fucking good because her eyes flicker down to pink lips, watching the tongue inside poke out and wet them. Her fingers pluck at the soft cotton on Brittany's tank top without conscious thought and she smiles as blue eyes move down an inch from where they were fixated on her forehead.

Their eyes meet, and it seems then they're both completely aware of how close they are, how warm both their bodies are against one another, and how this little movement has suddenly locked them in some sort of daze they can't get out of.

Her breaths are quickening, and they're heavier and deeper, coming from every crevice inside of her lungs and Brittany's hand slides down her face, lingering over her brow, down her cheekbone and to her jawline. There's something so soft about Brittany's eyes, they're so blue, and inviting, especially when they're coming towards her; but then Brittany pecks the end of her nose, and settles back into her side, nuzzling her head into the crook of Santana's neck, effectively breaking them out of the weird stupor they seemed to be in.

The spot on her nose where Brittany's lips were a second ago tingles, and she bites down the urge to touch the skin, to see if the sparks she's feeling are actually there. The atmosphere seems heavier than usual, and she finds herself frowning and breathing even deeper than she ever has before.

Damn it. It feels like she's on drugs or something. Maybe she should talk, maybe that'll lighten the air and do something about this damn feeling inside of her chest.

But Brittany breaks the silence, first. "So, are you nervous about tomorrow?"

Santana can't seem to shake herself from what's she's feeling. Her stomach's flipping, her mind's swimming and it feels like she's routed to this spot, even if she wanted to get up, she couldn't. There's still a heavy bloom of something hanging over their heads, and she finds herself taking a deep breath that kind of screams _I'm not _okay. She hasn't really been thinking about tomorrow apart from the sexy part because in all honesty, as much as she's been looking forward to it and wanted it, right now, lying in bed with Brittany, is something that she thinks, she might want more.

But she can't say that. She doesn't feel anything for Brittany and not because she can't, but because she _won't_.

Under the covers, Brittany slides her hand gently down Santana's arm, tickling over her palm before playing lightly with her fingers, trailing to the tips and back down again. There's hot breath hitting the side of her neck, and Santana forces herself not to look down because… Well, she can see what will happen. But she's not sure if she's forcing herself because she doesn't want too, or because she _can't._

She shouldn't be feeling this way: so damn confused and twisted with irrational urges — kissing her best friend being one of them. She shouldn't want to tilt her head down and lock eyes because she knows exactly how that will go; lips inches away from each other, noses brushing and pants mixing in the miniscule spaces between their mouths. It's obvious she shouldn't feel that way, because she has Sophie. Sophie Bexler, the love of her life, the soon to be Sophie Bexler-Lopez, her fiancée, right?

She loves Sophie, she's _in _love with Sophie, undoubtedly; but there's still something lingering in the pit of her stomach, something that moves inside of her whenever she's around Brittany and truthfully, it scares the fuck out of her.

Realizing she hasn't said replied to Brittany's question, she shuffles, moving the slightest bit away from the blonde and clears her throat. "Yeah," she admits, shakily.

She knows the rejected expression on Brittany's face, but she shuts her eyes, blocking herself from it. There's no reason to feel bad, it's not like she's rejecting her girlfriend or anything.

But Brittany's tone makes her feel that way anyway when she asks, "Why?"

It's not like Santana wasn't expecting that question, because Brittany's always been curious. But in all honesty, she knows Brittany is part of the reason she's scared, whether that be because of their friendship growing apart or… _No_. She doesn't want to think of another option.

"I guess it's because I'm twenty four, and getting married to a woman I've known for just over a year and I don't know," she shrugs. "It's like I'm growing up so fast." She pauses. "It's kind of scary."

Brittany leans up, propping herself on one elbow and looking down at Santana again, "San, you've always followed your heart, and look where it's got you." She smiles. "You're happy and you have no need to worry. It's not like you to jump into things, so I'm sure you're going to be fine." She brushes her finger knuckles across Santana's cheekbone gently. "Just trust yourself."

Santana shakes her head, then smiles weakly. "I guess so, Britt."

"See," Brittany grins and tangles their fingers together. "You'll be fine."

She waits a second, looks deep into Brittany's eyes and see's something just so _blue _about them. Usually, her normal reaction would be to look away, before she gets dragged into a stare she can't pull herself from, but this one is warm, soft and welcoming. Brittany's body is warm, and Santana feels like she's humming as the blonde leans in, and pecks the tip of her nose once more. Brittany pulls away with a grin and Santana chuckles, curling her hand around the other girl's waist and pulling their bodies closer together by the small of her best friends back. Brittany giggles along and squirms under Santana's moving hands; she's always been ticklish, and the small of her back was a definite tickle zone.

Santana leans up, kissing Brittany's nose in return and then they return to laughing together again. If anyone was watching them right now, they'd look like complete fools just giggling away and chuckling together. But it's the way they've always been, and Santana loves it.

Hands on her cheeks removes the daze she's in, and she grins up at the girl above her. Brittany leans down again, and brushes her lips against Santana's cheekbone, trailing the defined line where the skin tightens around the bone underneath. Once again, Santana returns it, and they both start giggling. _Again._

It's like a cycle, and they're playing around like they always used to. 'Two foolish kids' is what her mother used to call them—_Well,_ whenever her mom was around.

But then the gear switches, and as something flashes behind Brittany's blue eyes. She feels the blonde move across her face, pecking her nose again and then to her other cheek where her lips linger a little longer than normal. Every kiss is like a shot of adrenaline, and she feels her breathing become heavier and shorter, and soon enough she's basically panting with a racing heart. Fuck, what's happening to her?

And then it happens.

The gaze she's been trying so hard to avoid. The intense, routed one that's locking every one of her bones and muscles. Brittany's looking down at her with such love, and adoration that she finds herself questioning everything between them. It's not like she's ever denied how sweet, kind, good, caring, beautiful, wonderful… _Whoa_, she's getting a bit carried away there. But damn, what _isn't _Brittany?

But anyway, it's not like she's ever denied those things, but she's never really thought about them intently. Now, though, it's a different story. She's looking into sparkling crystal blue eyes that are shining with so much emotion that it almost hurts to continue looking into them, but she can't tear herself away. She takes a deep breath, in any attempt to clear her heart and slow down her racing heart but it fails. And when Brittany takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly, it's like Santana's mind gives out, and body takes over.

She leans in just a couple of inches, swallowing harshly against her thickened throat and chances herself, glancing into Brittany's slightly widened eyes as if she's asking silent permission. The blonde licks her lips, well Santana thinks she can feel that as the air dampens in front of her lips, and her eyes flutter shut whilst copious amounts of tingles and sparks shoot around her body. It's a silent yes from Brittany and she doesn't need the words to know exactly how the blonde feels because they've spent seventeen years of their life learning about each other, like which body movement means what, what facial expressions they pull, and what words are secretly spoken behind disguised sentences.

The air becomes more intense, and a wave of calm crashes down upon her as she inhales deeply and closes the final distance. The minute her lips touch Brittany's, she realizes that there's a line that's just been crossed that _definitely _shouldn't have been crossed. Not whilst Brittany's her best friend, and sure as hell not while she's getting married tomorrow.

But as their lips part, after the very brief kiss, her mind draws a complete blank and everything disappears. Her lips curl up at the side into a small and half-relieved smile and she cracks her eyes open the slightest to look up at Brittany who looks like she's still processing what the hell just happened. But surely she should be doing the same?

"Santana…" Brittany breathes, shakily, fluttering her eyes open.

However Santana feels the smile grow and she doesn't give Brittany time to continue, because she's leaning back in, pushing the blonde back and propping herself up on her elbow as the other hand slides across Brittany's taut stomach, curling around her waist until she's shifting so she's half on top of her, bringing their mouths back together. There's a moan threatening to escape her lips as Brittany parts hers slightly, and Santana tries to fight it but there's no point. This kiss seems to be rendering her completely powerless and she's falling into a mindless body which is pretty much confirmed as soon as she feels Brittany start to kiss back.

She almost faints at that moment, and when a wave of sweet, heavenly breath sweeps into her mouth as Brittany sighs out, Santana wonders why the hell she's never done this before.

Brittany shifts, switching the kiss and sucks in Santana's bottom lip, massaging them gently. Santana lets her moan, her hand gripping that little bit tighter and strong, pale hands make their way into her hair, tangling their and tightening at the roots so the kiss prolongs. Their mouths move together like they've been doing this together, and when something warm and wet flicks at her lip, Santana feels everything around her disappear. She opens her mouth to it, lets Brittany's tongue slide into her mouth and when her own tongue strokes against it, she's pretty sure her heart damn near jumps out her chest. Brittany moans loudly as the kiss deepens further, and Santana pushes all her weight onto her elbow and moves over until she's settled between strong thighs, fitting against Brittany's body.

A hand slide slides out her hair, drifts down her side and she all about dies when it slips beneath her top, settling on the smooth skin covering her ribs. It's warm, and she moans as all sense of doubt leaves her because Brittany smiles into the kiss, pulling her tongue back. They kiss slowly and softly for a while, and when they both break for a quick breath of air, Santana dives straight back in, pushing her tongue through Brittany's lips and flicking it against the roof of Brittany's mouth. She expects an immediate battle of dominance, because that's what she's become accustomed to with Sophie, but Brittany takes her time, flicking back and stroking her tongue softly over Santana's.

And it's like nothing Santana's ever known before.

She's kissed a lot of people—guys and girls—but nothing comes near to this. Not even Sophie, and Santana knows that should be bad but right now, she just couldn't care. There's something that's sparked between them, between their lips and maybe it's the way they're moving, maybe it's the way Brittany's hand is sliding over her skin, or maybe it's the way she's letting her own hand drift down Brittany's left side, pushing beneath her top and skimming up soft, pale skin until her fingers come in touch with skin softer than the rest. Maybe it's the spark of kissing someone for the first time, but whatever it is, it completely separates it from every other kiss she's ever had before.

And she's scared. She's really fucking scared because this feels so good and she doesn't want to stop. It's so wrong in so many ways, but so right in many others, and that's causing the consequences of kissing Brittany to push to the back of her mind because the only thing she's doing right now is feeling this. Feeling Brittany, feeling the way Brittany's kissing her slowly, drawing out the emotion between them and feeling the way their bodies are slowly moving and how incredible this experience is.

Her entire body is tingling in all the right places—some of the places she's never felt tingle before—and all she wants to do is pull Brittany closer to her until they're one and stay here for as long as possible.

The hand on her ribs shifts, and Santana smiles as she shifts her weight, keeping their lips together as her own hand comes out from beneath Brittany's top, sliding up the bed covers until she meets Brittany's hand. The lips on hers curve up, and she kisses her harder as their fingers slide against each other, tangling together; but even then she doesn't stop kissing her, just pushes Brittany's hand onto the pillow beside the blonde hair scattered across it.

The warmth of Brittany's mouth is so inviting, so welcome, and it shouldn't make Santana groan as loud as she does but it does it anyway. She breaks the kiss quickly to take a breath, licking her lips but she doesn't even have time to lean back down because Brittany's following her, dipping her tongue back into Santana's mouth and kissing her until Santana has to break again, head dizzy from the the way Brittany's tongue moves.

And Santana can't quite believe that she's gone so long without this. That she's gone so long without knowing what it was like to know the taste of Brittany's tongue in her mouth. She finds it almost hard to believe because now she has, she doesn't want to go without it.

Apparently, her body has the same idea because it seems somewhere along the line, their hips, bodies, have been rocking back and forth as they kiss because Brittany's laughing through her nose, the sound muffled against Santana's lips and she can feel the smirk there too, as well as the scorch still flushing across every inch of her skin.

It even gets to the point where they're both smiling so much they're forced to break the kiss, and Santana has an overwhelming urge to push her lips against Brittany's neck, dusting it with hot, opened mouthed kisses, licking and nipping it gently, showing it the damn attention it deserves, when she opens her eyes. And that's the breaking point because she looks down at Brittany, and slowly, they both realize what they were doing and two pairs of eyes widen impossibly so, and two pairs of swollen lips pop open into an 'o' shape.

Because it's at that moment that Santana realizes she's getting married tomorrow.

It's at that moment that Santana realizes that she just made out with her best friend, whom she's decidedly _not _getting married to tomorrow.

And it's at that moment that she realizes she has a loving fiancée at home, ready and excited to walk down the aisle to her, give herself to her eternally and irrevocably, and Santana just betrayed the vows she hasn't even spoken yet.

_Fuck._

What the hell did she just do?

And what the hell does this mean for tomorrow?


	6. chapter six

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Six]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>9900

* * *

><p><strong>The day of the wedding – December 18th.<strong>

Santana's standing in front of the mirror in the back room of The Foundry in Queens, staring at the reflection looking back at her.

There's something so different about her appearance, and it's not because she's in a short, white, lacy wedding dress that in about—oh, ten minutes—she's supposed to be wearing as she declares her eternal devotion to her fiancée, the person she believed until last night, was the love of her life.

It's because her dark chocolate eyes aren't shining as bright as they usually do, there's a duller shade to them. It's because her skin hasn't got its caramel glow that it usually sports, there's a duller shade to that, too. It's because right now there's some fucked up emotional turmoil that's screwing with her mind and it's getting harder and harder for her to keep her lungs functioning properly and her mind straight.

Because right now, she's having fucking doubts.

Right before her damn wedding, she's having fucking doubts.

It's some lame cliché that she would expect to see in a dumb ass movie, and she's almost at the point of considering looking around the empty room for a director, cameras, or anything like that.

What she does in the next few moments is forever going to affect her. There are a few possibilities of what she could do, all of which lead her down incredibly different, almost to the point of being opposite paths. It's intriguing to imagine these routes actually happening, but she knows she doesn't really have a choice. There aren't any options, and whatever she does is going to hurt someone. Someone incredibly dear to her.

Damn, this is so fucked up.

Her eyes trail up and down the length of her body. Her hair's hanging long and straight down the bare expanse of her back, with a weaved, floral halo hovering lightly on top. There's a small bouquet of white roses in her hands, which she's pretty sure mean purity, innocence or some shit like that, and that only adds to the guilt growing inside of her. Her make-up is mostly natural, a light layer of eye shadow, thick lashes with a thin coat of mascara and barely any foundation because her skin is pretty much flawless anyway, but nothing about what she's feeling is natural.

It's not right to be feeling like this before her wedding. It's not right that she's considering clambering out the small window to her right or that seeing any of her family or friends sounds like a nightmare right now. She should be fucking ecstatic, she should of course have the shaky hands and clammy brow, but she sure as hell shouldn't be wondering if this is the right thing to do or not.

"_Santana, ¿estás listo?" (Are you ready?)_

It's her mom, speaking through the medieval like door to her left. She didn't want Maria to be here, she knows it's some strange stunt that her mother's throwing so the people attending this wedding think the Lopez family isn't as fucked up as rumors have it, but it is no matter what the woman does.

Santana's father isn't here—he's off in California with Miss-Spread-Her-Legs and their two illegitimate children—but she's got her brother to walk her down the aisle, so she isn't worrying about being a loner. Unfortunately her mother seems to have finally taken a break from bobbing her head up and down in her boss' lap beneath the lap, hoping for a raise, to be here, but Santana couldn't really give a shit if the woman was or not. The capacity to give a fuck ran out a _long _time ago.

"Yes mother," she breathes. "I'm ready."

With one final breath, and what feels like a thousand ton of bricks on her chest, she mutters to herself that she's alright and walks towards the door. Her mother's standing on the other side in a red dress that a woman of her age _really _shouldn't be wearing, and long, dark hair, similar to her own, tied up in a side ponytail. Maria grins widely, and claps her hands together enthusiastically before engulfing Santana in a hug.

The contact is foreign and _really _unwanted. She can't remember the last time her mother hugged her—actually, no, scratch that, she can't remember the last time she hugged her mother, full stop. Santana's childhood mostly consisted of insults from her brother, barely any contact with her mother and even less with her father. The only relationships she ever established as a kid were with her grandparents—who, God rest their souls, can't be here—and of course, Brittany.

She makes her way through the various hallways until she's standing at the back of the church, grasping her bouquet like it's a life support and trying to create a regular breathing pattern. It's quiet, apart from the rambling of her mother probably talking to the next lucky winner of a one way ticked to STD central lingering between her thighs, and the two large, wooden doors in front of her seem like the Eiffel tower right now.

In the room through the daunting doors, she knows there's a large amount of her family and friends, and of Sophie's family and friends, waiting for her to make an entrance. The plan is for her to go in first, and then Sophie to join shortly afterward where they stand at the altar with the priest. No bridesmaids, just them. It's what Sophie ordered since apparently it's a symbol of their independent, rare love that shows they're only going to need each other to live their lives happily. Santana had pointed out that technically, the priest would be involved but Sophie had waved the comment off and got back to her texting on her stupid Blackberry.

"Hermana menor…" _(Little sister) _A deep, gruff voice speaks from beside her. "You're sweating bricks."

Her head snaps to the side and she sees Antonio, her brother walking towards her, hands in pockets and grin spread across his tanned face. It still amazes her to see how different he looks, to see what Hollywood's done to him. He's now a regular in a highly rated sit-com over there, and if she'd actually taken time out to take an interest in his life, maybe the shock of his radically changed appearance and presence in general, wouldn't have surprised her. In some ways, he actually resembles Jesse Metcalfe—the guy from John Tucker Must Die—with his God-like face, brilliantly white teeth that contrast perfectly with his tanned skin and a muscular figure that most girls would probably drool over.

Antonio sorted out the surprise visit the day he got the wedding invitation, and as Santana rushed into the Chapel about four or five hours ago in a very manic, disarrayed manner, there he was, leisurely lying on the chaise long in her dressing room, smirking and opening his arms wide for a hug. Admittedly, a few tears had been shed as she half-threw herself into his awaiting limbs, but overall she was pretty much ecstatic because of his arrival.

"Santana," Antonio looks at her seriously. "What's wrong?"

Santana deliberates whether or not to tell her brother everything. The doubts, her escape route, the reason she's feeling like this.

But she doesn't.

"Nothing, Tony," she forces the lie. "I'm good."

Her brother eyes her skeptically for a few seconds, training his eyes on her facial movements, as if he was specialized in body language or something. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Antonio gives her one more quizzical look before offering out his arm and smiling. "Then let's go get you married, hermana menor."

Her heart drops as soon as she hears the word married. They both step up to the door, Santana hooking her arm through her brothers and staring at the wooden panes in front of her, taking in deep breaths. It's not like she'd never heard of pre-wedding jitters, but really there were no words that could possibly describe the feeling. Sparks shooting through her body, and not the good sparks, the _fuck-I'm-gonna-die _sparks, feeling like she's about to crap out her stomach, a throat drier than the damn Sahara desert and a pair of knees that feel like they're about to give out any second.

As soon as the doors open, everyone's already on their feet, and staring at her intently. She knew it was going to happen, because damn, that what they're here for. Watching her get married, her being one of the centers of attention and all that crap. But seriously? It's not like she's not nervous enough, without two hundred pairs of eyes on her.

Antonio curls his arm upwards, and pats the back of her hand with his own. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Santana furrows her brow and turns to look at him. "What? Of course."

"If there's a time to bail, Tana, ahora es." (_It's now)_

There's a certain look in his eyes that scares Santana, because apart from Brittany, her brother was one of the people that could see through her walls. He was always the best out of the Lopez family on calling her on her bullshit, telling their mom when she was lying and so on. Damn, that's why she was grounded in the summer of 2009 for sneaking out a downing a bottle of vodka with Brittany, and returning home to throw up because Antonio read through her lie, and told Mari different — hence the grounding.

"If you don't el amor de su (_love her)_, back out now."

It's scary how well he knows her. Even after all this time. "I do love her, Tony. It's just…"

"Complicated?" He purses his lips with a knowing expression.

For a second, the thought runs through her head to yell at him, but then again, he'll probably read through that, too. So instead, she settles for a nod and, "Si, hermano _(brother)_. Complicated. But I love her and I want to get married to her."

Antonio turns away and stares at the door. The music starts playing from inside, and in lieu of an answer, he taps her hand again. Panic shoots through Santana and she swallows against a thickened throat. There should be a damn pill or something called _Calm Yo' Wedding Nerves _to keep the nerves down, because damn, her chest is about to burst through her chest. Her toes are wiggling nervously inside of her cream heels, and she licks her lips. Everything seems to slow down as Antonio takes the first step to the beat.

Up at the front of the chapel, there's a priest, who Santana's pretty sure is called Phil or Bill, something along those lines. He's standing there with the cheesiest grin on his face, and a bible clasped in his hands. She can feel everyone sigh as she continues to glide down the aisle, she can hear the '_so __beautiful's'_ and _'__oh my _God's' and she has to admit, it feels pretty damn good. So good that she's actually smiling_; _but more than anything, more than she can hear those words, or feel everyone staring, Santana can feel _one_ specific pair of eyes boring into the side of her skull.

It's more potent now than ever before. It's like Brittany's slowing down her movements because her feet decide to lose their fluid step. Antonio catches this, because he slows down to match her and she has to push down the urge to hug him and thank the hell out of him. He smiles with Santana, nodding his head at various people in the crowd but Santana barely aware of it as she focuses everything she has on keeping her feet moving. It'd be pretty fucking embarrassing if she fell over, and face palmed the red carpet beneath her; but then again, guess it would be an excuse to prolong the—

No.

She won't do that; she can't think of reasons to get out of this.

She loves Sophie, she wants to marry Sophie.

Last night, the whole kissing Brittany thing was obviously a mistake. She knew it as soon as they pulled away and as soon as she stared down at frightened blue eyes looking up at her with an apologetic expression accompanying it. She knew it as soon as she rolled off and told Brittany she'd be sleeping on the sofa. She knew it as soon as she left the room, threw herself onto the sofa and sobbed herself to sleep.

Well, she likes to think she knows it was wrong because of those things, but in all honesty, she doesn't.

And now the priest is getting closer and closer, and every damn step seems to be another nail in the coffin. Her breaths are getting shallower, contorting into small pants, and she's pretty sure that if she doesn't quicken her step, she's either going to fall over, pass out or die from thirst.

But the music continues to play, and she clenches her jaw as her eyes stay trained on her destination, desperately trying to avoid looking at Brittany because one look, will probably cause all the confidence to crumble, and she'll have an emotional breakdown. That would be one to tell the kids. Santana doesn't even need to meet the gaze boring into her to know where it's coming from; to the front left, sitting next to her mother, is Brittany. She's pretty sure Rachel's there too, but she's too focused to even try and decipher if it is or not.

By the time she gets to the second pew, the one directly behind Brittany, she loses control. For some unknown reason, gravity tugs her eyes and suddenly she's staring directly into dark, blue eyes. The seconds tick by, excruciatingly slowly, and all she can see is the internal pleading shading behind the cerulean orbs. It's almost as if everything's fading away, and it's just them there, in the chapel, alone.

But she can't handle staring at them. They'll make her change her mind. They'll make her do a 180 and sprint as fast as her feet can take her out the door, so she tear vision away.

Her eyes land on the priest, and she hears a few hushed words coming from the place she just looked away from. It's hard to hear, but she knows Rachel's saying something to Brittany and unintentionally, her ears perk up and she finds herself craning her head to try and listen in. But it's useless. She's too far away now. She's at the altar.

Shit. She's at the altar.

Brown eyes widen, and they snap towards her brother who's giving her the _'__leave now' _vibe, but she's nothing if not stubborn and she loves Sophie. Why shouldn't she marry the person she promised to marry? Why shouldn't she marry the woman she's in love with? Because she is. She _is _in love with Sophie and she _is _going to go through with this.

"Nunca es demasiado tarde." _(It's never too late) _Antonio whispers as he leans in and kisses her on the cheek.

Santana's brow quiver, and then she straightens it out and puts on a smile as her brother walks away. She can't have all these people watching her expression, and murmuring if she's about to be the Julia Roberts of the Runaway Bride. She can't have that. She _won't _have that; it's not fair to her, to Sophie.

The priest coughs from behind her, and she turns to him and shoots him a quick smile as the music starts playing again. When the hell did the music _stop _playing?

As her body twists so it's facing down the aisle, towards the doors she came from, she sees Brittany nudge Rachel and say sshslightly louder than necessary. A small smile tugs at her lips, and she briefly locks gazes with Brittany, but just as soon as they share the quick connection, the back doors swing open and Sophie's there.

Sophie. Her fiancée. The woman she's about to marry, standing at the back, clutching a similar bouquet of white roses and wearing a smile so bright the sun seems dark right now. She musters a fake smile, because her eyes flicker to Brittany who refuses to turn around, unlike the rest of the congregation. The whole time the music plays, and Sophie glides in time with the beat down the aisle, the blue eyes continue to stare at her.

She inhales deeply, her eyes scanning over the long white dress her fiancée is sporting. It dips low in the cleavage, not leaving a lot of room for imagination, which she thinks is pretty trashy, but hey, it's not her dress. It's large at the shoulders, and tight at the waist. And to be pretty honest, it's got Sophie written all over it.

The deep breath she inhales—and hopes to calm her emotions—doesn't do its job. Almost as soon as her line of sight flickers momentarily towards Brittany, Sophie's standing next to her, grinning widely and looking pretty damn gorgeous with a light layer of make-up. Her green eyes are sparkling, and her hair is in a tight bun on top of her head with a few strands to frame her high cheekbones and enhance her pale skin.

Santana holds out her hand, and Sophie takes it as they lace their fingers together. She is happy. She's getting married for fuck sake. She _has _to be happy.

But there's a nagging feeling at the back of her mind, telling her she's not, and it's basically fucking winning. She can basically feel the begging coming from Brittany, the silent pleads not to do this.

And she doesn't know why, but she spares a quick glance over at the blonde, who to her surprise, is smiling widely at her and nodding along. It completely takes her off guard, and she wonders whether or not she's imagined the pleading blue eyes and begging looks she'd just been receiving as Sophie walked up the aisle. What the hell is going on?

"_You may sit. We are all gathered together on this beautiful afternoon to share with Santana and Sophie as they exchange vows of their everlasting love."_

Santana rolls her eyes as the priest speaks, and because it's who she is, the thousands of statistics she'd read, over half of all marriages ending up in divorces, speeds through her mind. It's stupid for her to be thinking of divorce now, because she hasn't even got fucking married yet, and it's ridiculous for the word to even be going through her mind, because her and Sophie were made to last. They've had a connection since they met, and it has stayed strong ever since. True to her word, Sophie isn't like all the rest, she isn't like any girl Santana's ever dated. That's one of the first things she said to Brittany about Sophie, and it's true, even now.

But she still shouldn't be thinking of those damn statistics.

"_Sophie, will you take Santana to be your wife, your partner in life and your one true love? Will you cherish her friendship and love her today, tomorrow and forever? Will you trust and honor her, laugh and cry with her? Will you be faithful through good times and bag? In sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"_

The current situation snaps back to Santana, and she barely hears the _"__I do" _that escapes Sophie's lips as she stares into the green eyes of the woman facing her. Before she knows it, the priest has repeated the words, only this time from her perspective.

"…_In sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"_

Something happens in those few seconds, like the world slows down, the clocks tick that tiny bit slower and everything goes into slow motion. It's like one of those sci-fi movies, when someone clicks a watch, or a remote in Adam Sandler's case, and everything pauses.

The breath catches in her throat, and she drops Sophie's hands, whose stay remained in mid-air, along with her frozen body. The whole congregation is staring up at the two with smiling eyes, and large grins and Santana looks around, seeing the priest's lips parted as he gazes at Santana expectantly. She glances around the faces, seeing each of them frozen in time, and it's hard for her not to poke one of them or at least draw on one of their faces with a Sharpie or something.

Finally, as she glances around the crowd, her eyes land on Brittany. Brittany, who's sitting with hands clasped neatly in front of her, legs crossed and staring up at the space where Santana was previously occupying. Everything about Brittany is so beautiful, and she steps down to her, reaches out with one hand, completely forgetting about the bouquet in the other and ghosts her hand over Brittany's cheekbone. There's a distinct darkness shading behind Brittany's eyes, and Santana's never seen it as intense as this before. Sure, she's seen it, because well, she's seen every expression Brittany's ever held—seventeen years of best-friendship does that to two people—but this one… This expression is one that she's only ever seen once and that was last night, just after they broke from the kiss.

With that thought, her mind flashes back to the previous night's events, and she closes her eyes as her brain swims in the memory.

* * *

><p><em>The warning bells started making a riot in her head as she stared down at the girl beneath her. It was so wrong. She couldn't do it. She wanted to<em>—_Fuck, she really wanted to_—_but it's wrong. It may feel so good, and even though she was pretty sure kissing Brittany, or just Brittany, had been the missing puzzle piece in her life, it's wrong, and _that's _the bottom line._

_For fuck sake. Why couldn't they have discovered this earlier? They have the worst fucking time in the world and they couldn't continue because of Sophie._

_Shit. Sophie._

_Brittany shifted beneath her, and Santana reacted quickly, rolling off her and throwing her legs over the edge as she pressed her forehead hard against the palm of her hands._

_Damn it._

_What the hell was she thinking? Kissing her best friend? Kissing Brittany, when she's getting fucking married tomorrow? What the hell is wrong with her? _

_She spared a glance over at her best friend who was leaning up against the headboard, knees tucked to her chest and forehead rolling on her kneecaps, and she was just radiating frustration, guilt and so much sadness that Santana had to tear her eyes away._

_A bomb of silence had hit them, and Santana bit her lip which ultimately didn't help because she could still taste Brittany on them; and despite the guilt pouring through her, a shot of arousal bottomed out in the pit of her stomach. She curled her fists against her boxers at the thought. This is ridiculous. What the hell just happened between them?_

_After a few long minutes of silence, Santana stood abruptly and turned to face Brittany. It was quiet and awkward, and she didn't know what she was supposed to say. Was she supposed to apologize? Make a joke of it with a 'oops' and then laugh it off with her?_

_Crap. She doesn't know. But she know she _shouldn't _have just made out with her._

"_I_—_I..." she stuttered, fiddling with the hem of her tank top and trying to pull it over to the bulge showing through her boxers. "I'm gonna sleep on the couch," she finally settled on._

_Her eyes found Brittany as her best friend glanced up, and Brittany was in the same position, but was chewing her lip then, too, staring at Santana with terrified, blue eyes._

"_Sa_—_"_

"_Don't," Santana cut in._

_Brittany shrunk back, her eyebrows pushing together but she didn't say anything more as the eye contact broke._

"_I'm going to sleep on the couch," Santana repeated, trying not to focus on how much she was showing, even with the coverage of the tank top over her lap._

_Without another word, she got up from the bed and slipped out the door, shutting it louder than necessary and running her hands through her hair as she made her way toward the couch. Her mind was buzzing, going crazy with thoughts of calling up Sophie and telling her she couldn't do that, but she wasn't going to. She couldn't. Not because of what just happened. Her lips were tingling, there was a definite bulge in her boxers__and her stomach was flipping_—_and not in the same way it did with Sophie_—_but that didn't count. She couldn't let herself think about how deep the feeling buzzing through her body was, and how it felt like how she did when Brittany was explaining to her what making love was because they weren't about to do that._

_They weren't about to make love._

_They just weren't._

_Were they?_

"_Fuck."_

_The tears began to flow without another thought, continuous and uncontrollable._

_So she just turned, burying her face deep into the pillow and reached over the side of the couch to tug the blanket out from underneath, covering herself with it as she cried and cried._

_And somewhere along the line, along the tears, the sleep dragged her down and under._

* * *

><p><em>Santana woke just after seven in the morning.<em>

_She didn't even bother grabbing her clothes from Brittany's bedroom as she threw on her coat and left Brittany's apartment without a note, a text, or anything._

_Because she didn't know what to say._

* * *

><p>"Santana?" The priest urges nervously as she comes from her thoughts. "Will you be faithful through good times and bad, in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"<p>

Shit. Was she silent the entire time?

How long was she out? Did Brittany notice?

She always gets this cloudy thing over her dark brown eyes apparently, and Brittany always noticed it so maybe even though she isn't next to her, maybe she saw it from her pew.

_Fuck._

Does she know what Santana was thinking about?

Does _everyone _know what Santana was thinking about?

Her eyes flicker around the chapel in her peripheral vision, and judging by their wide eyes, fidgeting hands and shifting bodies, it's been a longer time to respond than it should've been. In front of her, Sophie's eyes are silently urging her to answer, there's answer behind them too, and Santana feels herself breathing harder and faster.

What is she doing? Why is she hesitating? She loves Sophie.

Last night with Brittany was just a mistake. That's just a fact.

Taking in a deep breath, she twists back to the priest and nods. "I do," she says, firmly. "I will."

Sophie's body deflates as she exhales in relief. It's still slightly worrying that Santana doesn't know how long she was out, but it's even more worrying that her first thought when she came out of her thoughts were about Brittany. That isn't a sign, is it?

"I now pronounce you wife and wife," the priest announces, proudly. "You may now kiss your bride."

Santana smiles and inhales quickly, before leaning in and pressing a lingering but innocent kiss to Sophie's lips. Just as quickly as their lips touch, Santana pulls back and tries not focus on the way her neck is trying to twist towards her right to where Brittany's sitting. She's mildly aware of Sophie picking up her hand and slipping on the ring, but her mind is elsewhere as she does the same. Elsewhere being blonde, blue eyed and the best kisser she knows.

Shit. No. She needs to stop thinking about that.

"And now, if the congregation would please stand," the priest announces, half-scaring the crap out of Santana. "I present to you, Sophie and Santana Bexler-Lopez."

A round of applause echoes around the room, and Santana grins as she laces her fingers through her wife's. Camera flashes bombard them and she brings her free hand up to shield her eyes mockingly as a suited man bends down in front of them with a professional looking camera and snaps a few shots. Her heart begins to flutter as she gauges all her family's reaction, seeing the sparkle in each one of their eyes.

The way her mom's grinning widely and keeping the act on, the half-sympathetic, half-judgmental expression on her brother's face, and the proud, happy faces of the few cousins behind her mom and brother.

Santana turns to Sophie, and steps down to the congregation level, before looking up and helping Sophie down the single step. Her legs proceed her away from the alter, and she grins at all her family and friends—and her newly occupied Bexler ones too—and they proceed down the aisle slowly, dodging the confetti thrown their way.

But not before she catches the expression on her best friend's face. The dark, sad blue eyes that aren't shining as brightly as they usually do, they're covered with some weird sort of dull shade to them. One she recognizes immediately, mostly because she was staring straight at it less than an hour ago. The quivering bottom lip that she'd be able to spot from miles away, the one that tells Santana that Brittany's about to cry, or withholding tears. It's too much for her to look at, and grudgingly, she squeezes her eyes shut, forces herself to turn her neck and puts back up the large grin as she continues down the aisle, with Sophie.

With her wife.

* * *

><p>"…And ever since that day, on the jungle gym in the park, I knew Santana would grow up to marry someone beautiful," Antonio raises his glass. "To the bride and bride. Good work hermana menor."<p>

Everyone claps again as Antonio finishes his speech. Santana's at the head table with Sophie to her left, her brother to her right, mother the other side and then Sophie's mom and dad the other side of her. The congregation are now seated in various circular tables with bright white tablecloths and white rose center pieces—seriously what is with the white roses?— and it only took about ten minutes to get from the altar to the reception room, seeing as they're in the same building and all, but it took a little longer to greet everyone and get them seated.

Somehow, Brittany has evaded Santana, and as she glances around the room, Brittany's sitting at one of the front tables, nearest the hardwood dance floor in front of the head table. For the past twenty minutes, or however long they've been in here, she's made sure not to look towards Brittany, and instead remained focused on Sophie who's threading their fingers together underneath the table.

"And now, it's time for the newlyweds first dance."

Santana snaps her head up, and looks at Sophie's father—or her father-in-law, damn that's scary—Paul who's mumbling into the microphone. Sophie's staring at her intently from her side, and she meets her eyes and grins as her thumb rubs over the back of her wife's pale hands.

"Santana and Sophie, would you like to make your way to the dance floor?" Paul grins and hikes up his trousers before sitting back down again.

She climbs to her feet, smoothing down the back of her dress as she pulls Sophie up with her and leads their way down to the shiny floor. Her hand twists, and she spins Sophie around before settling one hand on her wife's hip and the other grasping Sophie's hand by her collarbone. Her heart flutters as a familiar pair of eyes burns into the back of her skull, imprinting themselves. It's stupid, she shouldn't be feeling like this. She shouldn't want to hand Sophie over to someone else, and whisk Brittany to her feet. That's not how it should go.

Up until now, she can't actually remember the damn song they'd chosen to have their first dance as a married couple too. But then again, that's probably because she had fuck all to do with the organization of the wedding; but so far so good, so nothing for Santana to complain about. Not that she would of course.

"I will always love you," Sophie whispers as the soft tone of Whitney Houston's voice echoes through the room.

Santana's eyes widen as she realizes what song it is, and the urge to roll her eyes is right there on the fore front of her mind. Of all the damn songs Sophie could've chosen, she had to choose the cheesiest of all possible wedding songs, bar _I Got You Babe _by _Sonny and Cher._

"I will always love you?" Santana questions skeptically as she pulls back. "You chose I will always love you, by Whitney Houston, as our wedding song?"

Sophie's face drops. "Yes. It's a classic love song."

Santana can see the argument brimming, and hell, she really doesn't want to argue in front of all these people. So instead she hums in agreement and says, "I love it."

Green eyes light up. "I love _you_."

"Ditto."

As the song proceeds, the DJ calls on the couples, and soon enough, Santana and Sophie are dancing around the crowded bodies. Antonio is dancing next to her with some chick from Sophie's side of the family, that's going to be funny to explain that they're practically related, her mom is talking animatedly with Sophie's mom over in the far corner, and then Brittany is—

"Brittany," Santana whispers to herself as she finds her best sitting alone on one of the tables, eying up several of the dancing couples.

It completely passes Santana's attention that Rachel's left Brittany alone, or the fact she's making out with one of Santana's second cousins who doesn't even talk English, because all she can see is the sadness on Brittany's face.

"What?"

Santana shakes her head and looks to her wife who's raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"You said Brittany."

They spin and shuffle on their feet in time to the music. "She's over there on her own."

Sophie cranes her neck, looking over Santana's shoulder before settling back to her feet and pulling away with a dissatisfied expression. "She should've brought a date then."

The sharpness in Sophie's voice is enough to make Santana want to snap; but it's her wedding day, it's _their_ wedding day and Christ, they don't need to argue less than three hours after saying _I do. _Their marriage would probably be shorter wedding than Kim Kardashian's if they argued every time they could, and damn, that's just be embarrassing.

The last note of the song rings out, and everyone pulls away to clap quietly. Santana has no idea why they're clapping, but decides to join in anyway as her eye lock onto Brittany who's doing the same clap as before — the sad, forced one with a similar smile. Sophie's grinning at her, and Santana steps around her wife before heading towards Brittany.

She can't leave her best friend on her own, even if it's awkward. She isn't Rachel.

"Where are you going?"

Santana pauses and turns, seeing Sophie with her hip cocked and arms crossed. "To ask Brittany to dance."

"Why?"

Her eyes flicker between the blonde, who's still oblivious to this little tiff and back to her wife. "Because she's on her own."

"I will be too if you go to her."

Just at that moment—thank God—Antonio sweeps in and offers out his hand to Sophie. "May I have this dance, hermoso?" _(Beautiful)_

Relief flashes through Santana, which probably isn't a good thing and she watches as her wife inwardly debates what to do.

"As long as you don't mind, hermana menor?" Antonio says to Santana with a knowing glint to his dark brown eyes. It kind of freaks Santana out, because even she has no idea why she's leaving her wife to go and dance with her best friend, but there's something in her brother's smile that's telling her he knows; even when she doesn't.

"No," Santana smile. "Está bien. _(It's fine) _I'll be back soon, Sophie."

Sophie narrows her eyes, hesitating for a few seconds before she reluctantly takes Antonio's hand and is whisked away. Antonio throws Santana a quick wink before disappearing into the crowd with her wife, and she turns her eyes to the ground. The song is now about half-way through, since Sophie ruined the other half, and she turns to find Brittany sipping on a champagne flute, resting her chin in her hand and scanning the area.

It's not until now that she takes note of what Brittany's wearing. A low neck, purple strapless dress is covering Brittany's flawless body, and her legs are visible because of the short length. It's not short enough to be slutty, but it's not too long that it doesn't show enough of her toned, sculpted legs. Her has is in loose curls over her shoulder, with her bangs swept to the side and just… Well, to put it short, she looks beautiful.

"May I have this dance?" Santana says, offering out her hand.

Brittany's head whips up, and blue eyes flicker between the extended hand and brown eyes. For a second, Santana almost thinks that Brittany's about to run off, but then something softens behind the blue eyes and a sincere smile graces perfect lips. Brittany gently rests her palm into Santana's as she pushes up from the table with her other hand, in lieu of an answer, and then they move away from the seat.

Santana grins softly, and keeps her eyes trained on her best friend as she slowly steps back towards the floor. Everyone parts, kind of like the Moses and the Red Sea, and soon enough, they're standing in the middle of the dance floor with dull lights moving in slow, concentric circles to highlight some of the dancing bodies surrounding them. Santana doesn't know how long the reception's been going on, but apparently long enough for the sun to go down and a purple and orange shade to color the sky.

She releases Brittany's hand and shuffles forward, until their bodies are only inches apart. Her hands snake around her best friend's body, memorizing the curves and she lands on the small of Brittany's back. Pale arms slide around her neck, pulling the upper halves closer as they start to sway to the music, with no attempt to initiate any further movement.

It does come to Santana's attention that they're probably closer than they should be, but something cracks in the back of her mind and she finds a lack of fucks to give. She doesn't both getting paranoid because of the stares they're most likely getting, and instead she focuses on Brittany. Her eyes stare deeply into Brittany's and she can see the memories of last night flashing behind beautiful blue, and she can't _not _see the lingering darkness behind them because she's always been able to see Brittany's emotions in her eyes.

"Hey."

Brittany smiles weakly. "Hey."

Santana steps to the side as a twirling couple breezes by them. A small chuckle escapes her lips, and she hears the same come from her best friend which only causes the volume to increase. She rests her forehead against Brittany's shoulder as they continue to move, just slowing stepping to the beat of one of their favorite songs — _Never Think_.

"I'm finally having my dance." Brittany jokes lightly, even though her tone doesn't support the joke.

Santana pulls back and looks deep into blue eyes. "You can have as many dances as you want."

Sadness flashes behind Brittany's eyes, and Santana forces herself to look away as she dips her head back down to rest her forehead against a pale shoulder once more. Brittany lets out an audible sigh and then presses a kiss to dark locks before resting her cheek on top of that spot. Their bodies move in a more fluid motion than Santana's did with Sophie, and she likes to put it down to the fact Brittany is an incredible dancer, hence the increased dancing skill, but deep inside, she knows that's not the case.

It's just her and Brittany. They work better when they're together. They always have.

"Stop thinking so much," Brittany whispers into Santana's hair. "You should be happy. It's your w—wedding day," she gets out.

Santana pulls back to examine her best friends face, frowning at the stutter. "Who says I'm not happy?"

A pale hand reaches up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then lingers across her temple to the crease in her brow. "This," Brittany answers, pressing a little harder as the crease dips between her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "This says you're not."

Santana clenches her jaw against the rush of emotion through her. It's not fair that Brittany knows her so well. "I'm good."

Brittany hums and then leans down to mimic Santana's previous position, forehead on a tanned shoulder. It's a lie, and Santana knows Brittany isn't even bothering to question her anymore. Since when the hell did their friendship consist of lies?

"Okay, San."

Thirty seconds of silence go by—well verbal silence since their bodies and actions are speaking volumes—and they just continue to move in time with the song. It's a slow one, the lyrics fitting eerily well with their situation, and she can feel Brittany whispering along to the words as her hot breath burns into the skin between the crook of Santana's neck and shoulder. Her heart's beating a mile a minute, and she's pretty sure her palms are sliding off Brittany's dress due to the excess moisture and she doesn't know why it has to be like this. What's happening to their friendship, or relationship, whatever the fuck it is? Why is it so damn complicated now?

"What happened last night?" Santana breathes, tightening her grip to ensure Brittany can't escape the question.

Except Brittany doesn't jerk or jolt in surprise, like Santana expected, and her face twists with confusion as the blonde pulls back slowly and exhales even slower. "I don't know."

There's something so heart-wrenching about seeing Brittany like this. Like she's lost and doesn't' know how to get out. Like she's questioning every aspect of her life, just because they shared a mind-blowing kiss last night.

"…Do you?" Brittany continues, sliding her hands to the back of Santana's neck and gripping lightly underneath her hair.

Santana feels her heartbeat quicken, even though she didn't think that was possible and inhales deeply. The warmth of Brittany's body against her just sends her into a whirlwind of memories, most of them from last night, how their bodies fitted together, how their lips glided over each other like they'd been doing it all along and how it just felt so damn right to be kissing. Her eyes shut, and she immediately sees the re-enactment show on the back of her eyelids.

She wants to say yes, that she knows exactly what happened last night, but she'd be lying. She's spent the majority of her time, since she skipped out of the room after breaking away from the kiss, focusing on what the fuck happened but she hasn't figured out an explanation yet, and since then they've practically been avoiding each other at all costs, which has only created more of a pathetic mess inside of Santana's head.

Their relationship used to be so easy; it used to be like air, like breathing — just so natural. They could go months, or even years without seeing each other, and as soon as they get back together, _boom_, back to where they left off. It's so dysfunctional now and it's doing nothing but making her life worse.

There used to be a distinct separation between her love life and how it affected her friendships—well, in other words a disconnect between love and Brittany—but now it seems those two areas have overlapped. If anything ever threatened her relationship with Brittany in the past, she'd break it off or ensure that it didn't harm them as friends whatsoever. Brittany was always there as her friend, as her best friend, to support and give the honest advice a best friend should give. There were no complications, no thinking _oh my I like her _or any of that petty high school shit, it was strictly best friends.

But since Brittany returned, it seems everything's turned upside down.

Santana's relationship with Sophie was going strong, barely any arguments and normal conversations with Brittany, but when her best friend returned, it seemed the arguments formed and escalated, and instead of breaking it off with Sophie because it had obviously affected her and Brittany's relationship, she kept going how she was and now here she is, wedding band on her finger and vows tugging on her heart because she's sure she doesn't mean them.

To put it simply, they'd always managed to save their relationship. If Brittany had a problem with Santana's girlfriend, Santana would break it off. The same went for Santana and disliking any of Brittany's boyfriends or girlfriend, it would end. But a year and a half has obviously done a lot between them. None of Santana's girlfriends ever _disliked _Brittany, which was like hating ice-cream, or puppies, the idea was just fucking crazy.

But the came along Sophie.

Since the beginning, there's been a tension between Sophie and Brittany, and Santana hadn't thought twice about breaking it off with Sophie because this situation had never occurred. If anything, her girlfriend's would become incredibly good friends with Brittany and they'd go shopping and do all that cliché female bullshit like shoe-shopping.

The relationship between her and Brittany used to be simple, and easy, but the party, where she laid eyes on Brittany after eighteen months of not seeing her, something clicked within her mind. It's like something changed in the atmosphere, like it changed into a face and told Santana that something was coming around to fuck her over. It was never intended, but it just happened, something just changed about Brittany, about Santana and about their relationship, and it was unstoppable.

And instead of allowing the relationship to continue so easily, Santana knows she fucked it up. She made a move on Brittany, she _kissed _Brittany and she continued the kiss. _She's _the one that fucked it up, and _she's _the one that introduced Brittany to Sophie and kept Sophie around even after the clear tension and awkwardness between Sophie and Brittany. She just didn't stick to the way things always went, and now she wonders if she should have.

"No," Santana answers, solemnly. "No, I don't know what happened."

Her mind is inwardly drowning her with thoughts, and right now, her left hand is feeling heavier than ever before. The stupid wedding band is weighing her down, and her insides her spiking and twisting with guilt. It's a horrible feeling because she knows the girl she's holding in her arms is the one girl that's stuck with her through everything, has always been there, and up until last night, was considered to be her best friend; and yet all she's doing in return is confusing the fuck out of Brittany and hurting her.

"If you could—" Santana swallows, feeling the words thicken her throat and restrict her breathing. "If you could take it back," she pauses and breathes in. "Would you?"

Brittany pulls back and searches brown eyes for a few, long moments. There's true clarity inside of brilliant blue, and Santana finds herself mesmerized by the tiny silver specks surrounding the black circle before Brittany speaks and breaks her from her thoughts.

"Would you?"

Santana's not sure if Brittany actually answered, but she doesn't really think about it because the words escaping her lips faster than she can think it. "Never."

The corners of Brittany's lips curve up, and she smiles sadly. "Then you know my answer, too."

They both continue to sway to the music, realizing it's a completely different song from the previous one, and start to move their feet faster to match the beat. It's not a sexual, or erotic dance for that matter, it's just faster than the other one, as well as unrecognizable. Probably one of Sophie's choices no doubt; everything else has been.

"What does that mean, Britt?" Santana asks, warily as she tightens her grip on her best friend's waist.

But then the atmosphere changes, and Brittany stops her movement, which effectively stops Santana's. She glances up and sees a certain hard shade behind Brittany's usually soft eyes, and her hands drop from Brittany's side. It's not aggressive—well, she doesn't recognize it to be anyway—it's just vulnerable and hurt. And her heart falters as she cocks her head to the side, trying to read her best friend, but for once, she finds she can't. It's like there's this wall preventing her, and she can't see anything but the blank expression on Brittany's face.

"It means you're married," Brittany lets out breathlessly, her voice full of regret.

Santana raises an eyebrow and tries to return her grip to Brittany's hips but pale hands stop her. She continues despite the rejection. "Is that it?"

They both can hear the underlying conversation going on, the unspoken words asking if she's doing the right thing or not, and she can feel the silent pleading beaming through her eyes to get Brittany to answer honestly. But Brittany doesn't. Even if both of them know it's a lie.

"That's it," Brittany confirms, loosening her grip on Santana's wrists. "You're married, and that's it."

Santana ducks her head and feels herself welling up. She can't cry on her wedding day, she'll screw up her make-up, and then get asked by copious amounts of people what's wrong and just… Ah. She can't cry. Brittany's words racket through her mind, bouncing back and forth like a tennis ball as she slowly looks up through her dark lashes at her best friend. She doesn't know what the hell is going on between them, or what happened… And she can't because she's married.

But wait, if that's what's stopping Brittany—

"What if it wasn't?" Santana asks, desperation creeping into her town as she takes her bottom lip between her teeth. "What if I wasn't married," she repeats. "What would it mean then?"

The wheels turn inside her best friend's mind, and Santana begins to feel guilty for putting Brittany on the spot like this. In some ways, she wishes with deep longing that she'd never met Sophie, or that maybe Brittany had come back a year before, before everything was so serious between Santana and Sophie. Maybe then she could've sorted out her feelings, or realized them sooner, but no. Does she want that?

_Fuck. _She doesn't know.

She doesn't know what she wants. She doesn't know _who _she wants, whether it's Brittany or Sophie, and she doesn't know whether getting married was the best or worst thing that she's ever done.

Hell, just _thinking _about the question makes her want to run away incredibly fast, leaving a Santana shaped hole in all the walls as she bursts through them.

"But you _are _married," Brittany counters, looking over Santana's shoulders to something. "And you're happy," she says, voice solid but sad, her blue eyes glistening. "That's it."

Santana looks at her, trying to figure out what that expression is, but before she can identify it, it's gone. Her head cocks to the side and she opens her mouth to say, "Britt—" when another voice cuts in.

"Do you mind if I take my wife back?" Sophie interrupts, rudely sliding between Santana and Brittany and breaking their intense glare.

Santana looks between her best friend and girlfriend. "Actually, Sophie—"

"Of course," Brittany answers, increasing the volume of her voice and smiling too widely as her eyes stay trained on Santana. "She's all yours," she whispers and Santana's heart clenches at the double meaning.

But she keeps a straight face, despite the internal ache and before she can stop her best friend from walking away, Sophie's grabbing her hand and spinning them back into the center of the dance floor that apparently, she and Brittany had unknowingly gravitated off. Hands clutch together, clutch at hips and shoulders, and they begin dancing again, but Santana's eyes are still trained on the retreating figure of her best friend as Brittany slips out the double doors, out onto the patio. Shortly after that, a smaller figure slips out too, and Santana just manages to see the small apologetic smile Rachel shoots her as she goes after Brittany.

It takes everything Santana has not to just push Sophie away and run after her best friend, because she knows Brittany was _just _about to cry, but she holds it back with all the strength she has.

"What was that?" Sophie asks, looping her arms around Santana's neck.

Santana stares distantly at the double doors for a long moment, before she exhales and shakes her head, letting her eyes drift back to her wife.

"Nothing," she breathes. "Nothing at all."

* * *

><p>By midnight, everyone's pretty drunk and neither Brittany nor Rachel have returned to the party.<p>

Santana's been glancing up at the door at any time someone has come through or left the doors, but each time she's been greeted with disappointment instead of the vision of her best friend again.

Which is how she got here, leaning her head on her hands, elbows on the bar top as her head swims, dizzies, from the alcohol lingering in her blood. As soon as the tenth person walked through the door, revealing that Brittany wasn't going to come back, Santana decided that as she paid for half this wedding, and was supplying the majority of the free bar, she was going to make the best of it. So she sat down at her table and ordered a drink from the waiter, and just kept doing tell the guy to bring more over, no longer caring if she went over the amount of money she'd put behind the bar.

(Although her plan is ultimately floored because if she goes over the amount, she's going to have to pay the extra anyway.

But that's not exactly at the forefront of her mind, right now.)

Somewhere behind her, she hears Puck laughing along with her wife as they twirl on the dance floor. He'd turned up late—of course—and handed Santana a card, kissed her on the cheek before whisking off to the free bar to take full advantage of it. Only an hour later, Santana had found him talking to Sophie in the far corner of the room, and it had puzzled her to know how they knew each other so well, but truly, she didn't care enough to investigate.

The chair next to her squeaks as it slides against the floor, but she doesn't have enough energy to turn and see who it is so she just waits for the person to talk. About twenty seconds of silence later, it starts to irritate her that this person isn't talking, no matter who they are, and musters the strength to lift her head up. And when she does, she's met with the intense glare of her brother. _Great._

"I'm schorry," she slurs, slapping her hand to her forehead. That's gonna hurt in the morning. "Can I helps you?"

"What are you doing?"

"Drinking," she picks up her vodka twist and chugs it down. She's been drinking so much that she's past the point of feeling the burn on her throat. "_Obviouslys_."

Antonio slouches over, pressing his forearms into the top of his thighs. "You know what I'm talking about."

She rolls her eyes, and manages to push up from the table to stumble over to the free bar. About two steps in, she catches herself in her own foot and prepares herself to face plant the floor, but Antonio's there to catch her elbow and props her upright.

"I'm getting a drink," Santana answers, taking her steps cautiously as she arrives at the bar. "If yous don't minds."

"Santana," she warns, pushing her onto a stool before leaning onto the bar counter next to her.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "I'm drunk," she gets out, scrunching her face up.

Antonio lets out a chuckle. "What gave that away pisshead?"

Santana tries to scowl at him, but due to the alcohol she knows it probably comes out as just a strange expression. "That's mine praise."

"You mean _your phrase?_"

She nods hard. "Titswhat I said."

Antonio examines her for a second before bursting out in laughter. "Titswhat? Oh my!"

"I meant," Santana clears her throat and tries to fake soberness. "It's. What."

The bar tender slides over two tumblers full of clear liquid. She assumes it's vodka, and brings her hand out to clutch it, but before her fingers can come in contact with the glass, it's whisked away and she feels her head roll about uncontrollably as she tries to search for the thief. Then again, considering her state she can't really be bothered.

"You need to sober up," Antonio claims, sipping on a dark drink that she thinks is Coke.

Santana slaps him on the arm lightly. "And you needs to gets a proper draaank."

Her brother lets out another throaty chuckle and unbuttons three of his buttons from the neck, revealing a perfectly shaven chest. "It's rum and Coke. It is a proper _draaank_."

Santana laughs at her brother's impersonation and hears him mutter to the bartender '_water'_. Two seconds later, another clear liquid slides over to her and she glugs down the contents, shocked by the lack of vodka taste, but thankful for the existence of water in general.

"Mike Chang was hitting on her earlier, you know."

"What?" She glances over at him, her face screwed up with confusion. Who the hell is Mike Chang? And who the hell was he flirting with?

"Mike Chang, the famous choreographer," Antonio clarifies, sipping on his drink. "He was hitting on her."

Santana still doesn't get it. "Hitting on who?"

Her brother smiles, gives her a quick knowing look. "Brittany."

"Sho?" Santana snaps back, waving at the bartender for another refill. There's piping hot jealous burning through her veins, but she knows as long as she attempts to quell the anger, she'll at least be able to hide it until Antonio leaves. But she doesn't even know why she's jealous; she has no hold over Brittany, she has no rights. Santana just wants her best friend to get what she wants in life. What she deserves.

Antonio purses his lips. "I'm just telling you. She's going to get whipped up by someone soon and if it's not Chang, then it's someone else."

Still, she pays it cool. "I knows and she should definitelys. He would make her happys, and that's what shes wants in life. Why ares you telling me that anyways?"

There's a sadness to his expression as the words escape her mouth, and he chucks down the rest of his drink before patting her on the shoulder and walking past her.

"You know why," he whispers into her ear."

And then she's left by, feeling incredibly drunk and confused by her brother's words.


	7. chapter seven

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Seven]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>11300

* * *

><p>Santana wakes up in the morning with a headache the size of China. Her throat's drier than the Sahara desert, her head's spinning faster than the Tasmanian Devil on speed and she's about two seconds away seeing her stomach contents in the toilet bowl.<p>

A hand finds her back, and she manages to summon the strength to twist her neck so her other cheek is pressing into the pillow, despite her muscles rejecting the movement.

"Hey," Sophie smiles, continuing to rub circular motions on Santana's back. "You're awake."

"Looks like it," Santana groans, sliding her palms up the bed to push herself up. It fails, obviously, and she falls back to the mattress from about seven inches up, face palming the pillow hard. _Ouch._

"I just came to tell you something, babe."

Santana moves her hand to finds Sophie's, and twines their fingers together. "You okay?"

Sophie nods. "Yeah—Well, kind of."

"What's up?" Santana asks, suddenly feeling a lot more awake. She takes a second to glance around the room, and realities she's back at home, in her bed. How the hell did she even get back here?

"Work called," Sophie releases Santana's hand and gets up from the bed, revealing that she's dresses in barely-there panties and a one size too small tank top. "I have to go in."

Santana flips onto her back slowly. "When?"

"Now."

Her eyes follow Sophie as her wife—shit, _wife_—stops at the dresser and changes out her clothes. Santana feels something tingle in the base of her spine and clears her throat. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, apparently BEL 20 went down by like twenty percent. There are some strange figures in the market, and my boss wants me to have a look." Sophie walks over to the window and twists the blind open to give the room some light.

Brown eyes squint against the intruding brightness. "You're a stockbroker. Don't they have like, millions of you that can do that job? It's the day after our wedding, Sophie."

Sophie flips her hair forward and ties it up into a high ponytail. "I'm a discretionary management stockbroker, actually, and there's only like four of us in the building. Everyone else has already left for the holidays, and I'm the only one in town."

There's something tugging in the back of Santana's mind, and she furrows her brows. She reaches over to the side table, grabbing the bottle of water she keeps there, and then delves into the drawers in search of the Advil. Every damn move she makes, whether it be reaching to the side table or getting a kink out her neck, feels like a freaking sledgehammer to her temple. Stupid hangovers.

"And there's no way you can get out of it?"

Sophie shakes her head, and then crawls onto the bed to press a quick kiss to Santana's lips. She melts into the feeling, before Sophie pulls away and she's left with her lower lip jutting out. "No, sorry babe."

"Okay," Santana says, drawing out the word.

Her wife throws her a quick smile before disappearing out the bedroom door. Santana frowns, and then bites on her bottom lip. She barely remembers anything that happened last night after her talk at the bar with her brother. She knows Brittany left, along with Rachel and she knows her brother could possibly be pissed at her, but apart from that, she can't remember a damn thing. Not even the—

"Oh, shit," Santana finishes off her thoughts inside her mind. Her hands push against the mattress as she forces herself to her feet, trying to keep herself steady as her legs feel like Jell-O. She makes her way out the bedroom, down the hall and to the kitchen where Sophie's leaning against the counter, typing away furiously on her Blackberry. _Again._

"Hey, Sophie?"

Sophie doesn't even look up. "Yeah?"

"Last night…" Santana pauses, and scuffs her bare foot along the kitchen tiles. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, not entirely knowing why she's nervous. "Did we, you know…"

Sophie glances up, brows furrowed. "Did we what?"

"Have sex?"

Sophie smiles weakly, eyes flickering down to Santana's lips then back up to her eyes. "No, babe. You were passed out and I'm pretty sure it'd be classed as rape if we had."

Santana deflates a little, her body sagging as leans against the counter. "Oh, right, sorry. I just drank a little too much."

"It's fine," Sophie says, a little cheerier than Santana was expecting or wanting for that matter considering she'd been going on about how good the night will be and everything, for weeks and weeks. "I barely saw you at the reception anyway."

Her heart catches in her throat, and she gulps audibly. Fuck, did Sophie see Brittany walk out crying? Does she know Santana drunk that much because of her Brittany? Shit. Now she's freaking out. "Really?"

Sophie nods. "Yeah, I spent the majority of the night with Puck, actually. He's lovely."

"Oh, right," Santana lets out a sigh of relief, bobbing her head. "Yeah, Puck's alright. Bit of an ass. Kind of why I don't see him a lot."

There was a time, just before Santana met Sophie, when she and Puck were best friends, not of course Brittany and Santana best friends, but best friends none the less. However, after a club crawl one night, Santana decided to let Puck stay over, as well as Santana's then girlfriend, Melissa, so they could continue the party into the early hours of the morning with Mr. Jack Daniels. But of course, that turned out to be a pretty stupid idea.

Cutting the story short, Santana passed out around 2am, and then when she woke around 4am, she walked in to her bedroom, to find Puck and Melissa going at it like rabbits on her bedroom floor. Since then she pretty much strayed away from Puck. It hadn't taken that long to forgive him mostly because she hadn't actually liked Melissa all that much, but it was still a trust thing. Sure, he had and still to this day, insisted that one day he would get into Santana's pants, despite not knowing what is actually _in _Santana's pants, but hey, he's always been clueless and to his knowledge, they were still the best of buddies, but Santana knows different.

Even meeting at the party a while back it'd been weird, because he came onto her with his supposedly sexy tone and flirtatious wink (that personally made bile rise in the back of her throat, but then again he's not even remotely near her cup of tea) and acted like everything was alright. So she practically shipped Sophie off with him, hoping her girlfriend—well, _wife _now—could deal with it. In hindsight though… That probably wasn't the best idea…

A buzzing sound interrupts Santana's thoughts, and she glances over to see Sophie tapping away on her phone with a weirdly large smile on her face. Her eyebrow rises quizzically, and her body turns as if she's focusing on the biscuit tin in front of her, whilst her eyes are trained on Sophie. There's a jolt of suspicion that shoots through Santana's body, and she rubs a palm over her face, feeling the ache in the back of her eyes.

"I've gotta go," Sophie says, skipping over to Santana and kissing her cheek. "I'll see you later, though?"

Santana smiles lazily. "Yeah, see you babe." She twists her head and catches Sophie's lips, whilst her hands find their way to her wife's hips. The kiss deepens, and tongues quickly find each other as lips glide together easily. Pale hands tangle into dark locks, securing their faces together and Santana bites down gently on Sophie's lip, earning a quiet moan. But Santana can't help the fact that in the back of her brain, she's unconsciously comparing her wife's lips and kisses to someone elses.

_Fuck._

Sophie breaks the kiss, leaning her forehead against Santana's as they both try and catch their breath.

"I love you," she breathes out, nuzzling her nose gently against Santana's.

But for some reason, Santana can't bring herself to say the words back as they catch in her throat. What the hell is going on?

"Ditto."

A quick peck on the lips, and then Sophie's out the door, leaving Santana to drag herself back to the bed with the world's biggest hangover.

* * *

><p>The best thing about being best friends with Brittany is that even when they have arguments or disagreements, they usually push past it within a few hours, maybe days, and then they're back to acting like everything's fine and dandy. So when she receives a text from Brittany asking if she wants to go for coffee, she gladly accepts and before she knows it, she's walking into Starbucks with her head held high and left hand feeling incredibly heavy.<p>

Brittany's sitting in the corner table, drumming her fingertips on the counter as she focuses on life outside the window pane to her left. She's wearing a light blue blouse, skinny jeans and a pair of white converses. There's nothing smart or expensive about her outfit, but she still manages to make it look like Alexander McQueen designed it. A cup of coffee sits idly in front of Brittany, which doesn't look like it's been touched, so Santana makes her way over there, slipping into the seat and crossing one leg over the other with a smile.

"Hey Britt Britt," she murmurs, grabbing Brittany's cup and sipping tentatively. The cold liquid seeps down her throat and she winces at the taste. "You know this is cold, right?"

But when Brittany looks up, the smile fades from Santana's face. It's small; a slight crease in Brittany's eyebrows, but Santana sees it. She's always been able to see it. A tanned hand finds a pale one, and Santana lays it over the top gently, temporarily stopping the drumming.

"Britt? What's wrong?"

Blue eyes zoom onto their touching hands, and a second later, Brittany retracts her hand and crosses her arms over her chest. "My dad's ill."

Santana's eyes lock onto blue, and even though she's hurt by the loss of contact, she understands. "What's wrong with him?"

The Lopez and Pierce family never really spent a great deal of time with each other. However Santana was basically an honorary Pierce. She spent that much damn time over there, that for her tenth birthday she asked to be adopted by them. Of course her mother wasn't exactly pleased with that plan, and Brittany's mom, Anna, wouldn't oblige unless Maria did. Although, come to think of it, it was probably best they weren't related after all.

"He's got cancer," Brittany whimpers, sniffing as she wipes the back of her other hand along her nose.

It's an uncomfortable feeling really, because all Santana really wants to do is hug Brittany, run her fingers through blonde locks and tell her everything's going to be okay, but she can't. She knows about cancer. Damn, both her grandparents were taken by it and she knows that Brittany knows that too. But it doesn't stop her wanting to try and convince Brittany that things are going to be okay, that life can be a fairy-tale and no matter how bad the journey, things are bright and happy in the end. It's encoded within her to do it, like some strange law burned into her DNA, making her want to make sure Brittany's okay, making sure Brittany's not hurting and is generally okay.

Still, it doesn't change the truth. Life isn't a fairy-tale and sometimes, things don't always work out for the best.

"I'm so sorry, Britt."

"I—I just…" Tears seep out of glossy blue eyes. "I don't k—know what t—to d—do, S—San."

This time, she doesn't care that Brittany's going to reject the contact and wraps her arms around pale shoulders, pulling their bodies closer together. Her head rests on top of Brittany's, and she strokes her hand through blonde locks reassuringly. "I'm here for you, Britt."

A few strange glares are sent that way, but Santana perfected the _fuck off _scowl in high school, so it's not surprising the glaring Starbucks idiots return to their Apple laptops and venti macchiato's.

"It's m my dad, San," Brittany whimpers, sinking into Santana's arms as she buries her nose deep into a tanned neck.

For like the seventeenth time in the span on three days, Santana's rendered speechless. She doesn't know what to say. Sure, she's upset because Neil Pierce has always been a second dad to her, but this is Brittany's actual dad, and she can't show her real emotions on the matter because what she feels doesn't match up to what Brittany's does. And to make it worse, there's no way Santana can tell her everything's going to be alright when she has two people in her life that prove that statement very wrong.

"I know, Britt. I know."

Somewhere along the line, they started rocking back and forth slightly, and Santana decides it's easier to keep the scowl etched on her face for the time being, considering the increase in strange looks. Her eyes scan around Starbucks, when she notices the few candy canes by the ordering counter, and the Christmas themed take-away cups stacked up by the coffee machine.

"Britt," Santana starts, pulling the blonde away to look into puffy, red eyes. "What does this mean for Christmas? It's like six days away."

Another wave of tears flood out of Brittany's eyes, and Santana inwardly kicks herself as she knows how important and amazing the Pierce family always found Christmas. It was a stupid thing to say, because she knows that better than anyone else. Every year she'd get in the mini-van with Neil, Anna and Brittany's little sister Emily, drive down to SoHo's Christmas Tree Yard and buy a ridiculous 6ft Norway Spruce because Neil had grown up in England and they're the favorite Christmas tree over there, apparently.

"They're sti—still—" Brittany punctuates her sentence with a long, hard sniff, "In Engla—England."

Santana's brows come together. The Pierce's would always come back to New York, from whatever continent they decided to live on for that year, and spend every Christmas with Brittany, and of course Santana. It was an annual thing that started when Brittany went to Columbia. To say her little dorm was crowded, was putting it mildly.

"So they're not coming back this year?" Santana asks, tentatively. She doesn't want to seem insensitive for dodging the cancer bomb, but she has no idea what the hell else to say.

Brittany sniffs, and brings one hand to rub at her nose. Santana waits until the arm is back down until cradling the blonde once more, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other still resting on Brittany's shoulder. "N—no, I'll be on my o—own this—this year."

"No, you won't," Santana quickly shoots back. "We've spent every Christmas together since we were seven—bar last year—and this year isn't going to be any different."

It's true. Even before Brittany went to Columbia, Santana always woke up on Christmas day in the Pierce household, on the spare mattress until the age of thirteen, and then in Brittany's bed from then on. It was kind of an unspoken agreement that every year, Santana would sneak over on Christmas Eve—well travel down four houses—and climb up the little ledge into Brittany's room. For a seven year old, it was pretty challenging, but she found a way in the end.

Brittany brings herself out of Santana's grasp, looking deep into brown eyes. "Are you s—sure? Won't Sophie—Sophie mind?"

Santana tries not to hear the bitter edge on her wife's name as it escapes Brittany's lips, because that'll probably cause her to think about other things that are counterproductive to the situation now. It hadn't dawned on her until now that this would be the first Christmas she would be spending with Sophie, since last year she spent her entire Christmas break cooped up in her office, sorting out contracts whilst texting the girl she hooked up with a month ago, who later became the girl she'd marry.

"Screw Sophie," Santana declares with a smile. "You're my best friend."

Blue eyes widen the slightest bit, and Santana tries not to focus on the two words that just slipped out her mouth. _Best friends _are not what Santana would call them. _Best friends _would infer that there wasn't some strange ass thing going on between them which stemmed from a kiss that would blow any other first kiss of anyone of all time, right out the water.

It feels like her heart's stuttering as she brushes a piece of Brittany's hair behind her ear. What the hell is she doing?

"Best friends." Brittany repeats, lowly, like she's trying to find truth in those words.

Reluctantly, Santana nods. "Yep, so you'll be spending it with the Lopez household this year."

"Bexler-Lopez." Brittany corrects, straightening up and wiping away the mascara tracks from underneath her eyes. "I'll be spending it with the Bexler-Lopez household this year."

There are way too many feelings in the room right now, crowding with unspoken words and underlying meanings. Santana's head hurts, half from the remaining hang-over and half from the way Brittany's making her feel and she just wants a glass of water, or a few more Advil to kick herself back into action. Hangover's do strange things to her.

"Yeah," Santana breathes out, standing from her chair and offering out her hand. "Come on, let's get you home."

Brittany breathes in deeply, and ignores the extended hand as she gets up and brushes past Santana towards the door. She swallows thickly, and tries to ignore how much she's hurting Brittany, because she knows she is.

And she knows there's fuck all she can do about it.

* * *

><p>When Santana gets home, she throws her keys on the table and then herself onto the sofa, face first. Her mind still hurts, and she still hasn't got that damn glass of water, or Advil. Stupid memory.<p>

"Oh," Santana turns and sees Sophie standing by the door, suitcase in hand. "You're home."

Curious, Santana slowly pushes up from the sofa, eyes flickering between the suitcase and slightly wide green eyes and takes a careful step towards Sophie. "Looks like it."

"I've got to go away for a week," Sophie announces, lifting up her suitcase for emphasis. "Stock's overseas have gone bust."

"Overseas?

"Yeah, over in China."

Seeming to notice the slight quiver in Sophie's lip, which Santana has come to know as a habit that seems to mean that either she's nervous or lying, she tilts her head to the side. "China?"

Sophie grins widely, a forced grin, and makes her way to the front door, dropping the suitcase there before looping her arms around Santana's neck and pulling their bodies together. "Yeah, Clarke, my boss, said that I had to go."

Santana finds herself questioning the truth behind her wife's words. There's no reason why she should be questioning her because in reality, the chances that Sophie's sneaking off somewhere to cheat on Santana, a day after their wedding is pretty low. It's also a pretty quick, sharp reminder about how hypocritical she would be for accusing Sophie of adultery like she hasn't done it herself. "Sure, Soph."

Fingers play with the hairs at the base of her neck, and Santana shudders under the touch. She's never had the balls to tell Sophie just how much she hates when people do that, it feels creepy and she always ends up with tiny tangles that hurt like a bitch whenever she brushes through them.

"We'll just have to re-arrange our honeymoon for next year."

All the blood drains out of Santana's face, and she tries to stop her eyes from widening. Damn, she'd completely forgotten about their honeymoon. The honeymoon they were supposed to be spending in Hawaii, lounging on the beach on Christmas day with Strawberry Daiquiri's and Woo-Woo's.

"Oh," Santana breathes out, trying to feign as much disappointment into her voice in possible.

Truth is, she freaking loves Christmas. Christmas in New York with the snow, the stupidly large tree in the Rockefeller Center and ice-skating in Bryant Park, and the last thing she wanted to do was jet off to Hawaii and spend two weeks doing exactly the opposite. But once again, Sophie seemed to get her way and convince her to have their honeymoon somewhere else.

"But," Sophie smirks and leans in, ghosting her lips over the shell of Santana's ear. "When I get back, I'm going to rock your world."

The phrase completely turns Santana off. It's not like she was turned on in the first place, but hello? Weeks without sex and her body currently being pressed up against her wife like this is going to cause some inevitable constant arousal. The last person to use that phrase was Rachel Berry, bane of Santana's existence but permanent bane as it's Brittany's best friend (bar herself of course) and just _ugh._

"Sounds awesome, Sophie," Santana says, trying to push past the lack of interest intoned into her voice and grins at her wife. "Can't wait."

The thought that she's going to have to sustain from sex from another week bother her more than it should, and for all the wrong reasons. It's not completely because of the fact she's really freakin' frustrated, and her left hand is becoming less and less interesting with each stroke - it's because the week she's spending away from her wife, is a week she's virtually promised Brittany she'll be spending with her. With all these feelings, and all this frustration.

_Fuck. _

Everything would be so much easier if feelings weren't invented, or created, or considered. Whichever. Just screw feelings, basically.

"Your Christmas present is under the tree already," Sophie announces, jutting her chin towards the tree beside the wide screen TV in the far corner. "And I've already opened mine."

Santana frowns, knowing Sophie's present is buried inside her blazer pocket since she bought it about twenty minutes ago and glances down to Sophie's neck. A silver chain hangs loosely around it, a small, diamond heart lingering between her collarbones.

_Oh, crap._

"And I love it." Sophie continues, leaning forward to press a long, slow kiss to Santana's lips.

It's probably not the best idea to tell Sophie that the necklace was actually intended for Brittany because come to think of it the connotations are pretty bad. So instead she lets herself go, melting into the kiss as her fingertips press into Sophie's hips and tongue leisurely traces the contours of her wife's mouth.

When she pulls away, Santana inhales deeply and grins. "Good."

Two minutes later, Sophie's blowing a kiss to Santana as she walks out the door with suitcase in hand.

* * *

><p>Santana lets her body slump into the mattress as she stares into the ceiling above her. "This one's pretty comfy."<p>

The mattress bounces, and Brittany jumps onto the bed next to her, staring at the ceiling just like she is. "I guess so, but I liked the memory foam one more. I could feel it molding around my butt."

A throaty chuckle escapes her lips, and she turns her head to the left to look at her best friend. "Really? But this is a pocket spring, it works independently to respond to individual body weight and it's more luxurious with its individual small springs housed in separate fabric pockets."

"Wow."

Santana props herself up on her elbows. "What?"

"Since when did you become an expert in beds, mattress nerd?" Brittany jokes, moving her body like a dolphin to feel the mattress move underneath her.

Seeing Brittany like this reminds Santana of their childhood days. How they used to laugh at nothing, feed the ducks down in Central Park and spend hours making little forts in Brittany's front room. The huge, toothy grin that Brittany always used to make whenever she was at the peak of happiness, is shining through as her blonde hair splays across the uncovered mattress and ripples with every movement.

It takes a second for Santana to register what she's doing, to realize she's got her head cocked to the side, a small smile tugging at her lips and adoration beaming out her eyes, and it takes just another moment longer for her to cough, feigning the need to clear her throat as she sits up fully, straightening her back and bouncing her butt on the mattress as if she's actually focused on finding Brittany a new mattress.

"Shut up."

"Meanie," Brittany replies quickly, jabbing Santana in the ribs and causing her to fall back into a fit of laughter.

The hysterical giggling carries on for a while, up until the point Brittany's keeling over, grabbing her stomach and whining, "It hurts!"

Santana only chuckles more, and when she looks up, she notices just how many people are staring at them around the store. Her eyes flicker back to Brittany, who's just staring up at her from her lain position with the same toothy grin on her face.

"What?" Santana asks, furrowing her brows for a second. "What are you grinning at?" Her finger pokes the end of Brittany's nose, and her best friend scrunches her face in reaction as she shrugs.

Brittany's eyes do that sparkly thing they've always done when she's thinking about something with deep interest. Santana kinds of hates the way she knows this, mostly because when she questions the sparkle, she usually receives the same answer that always succeeds in annoying her.

"Nothing," Brittany answers, just like she always does.

Santana pouts forcefully, jutting her lower lip out and scrunching her eyebrows together. "Tell me."

Blue eyes sparkle brighter. "No."

"Tell me," Santana repeats, "Otherwise…"

"Otherwise?" The bed dips further as Brittany leans up, quirking an eyebrow and grinning evilly.

It must be because Santana's spent the past three hours trying to push Neil Pierce and his unfortunate news to the back of Brittany's mind, and managed to fail miserably, because she throws herself on top of her best friend, straddling a strong thigh as her hands tickle their way down clothed ribs. She doesn't know why she thinks putting her in such close proximity of her best friend is a good idea, or why the hell she's still doing it seeing as they're in the middle of a bed store, acting like two children.

But she does know that it's having the desired effects, because underneath the protesting squeals, shrieks and giggles, there's a certain light that beams back into Brittany's face under the touch of her tickling fingers, showing that she's just that little bit happier. And even if it doesn't last for long, Santana knows it's gradually working.

"Please," Brittany squeals as tanned fingers graze up her sides. "St—Stop!" She yells playfully.

"Tell me," Santana continues, applying a bit more pressure and trying to keep herself a top of Brittany's wriggling body.

But Brittany doesn't give in, and Santana ducks her head down as continues her assault up and down pale sides.

"San! San! I—It tickle—tickles!" The words come out as half pants because Brittany can't seem to stop herself from giggling.

It's moments like these that Santana seems to forget about everything negative in the world. It's times like these when she sees Brittany in her element, nose scrunches, eyes squeezed shut and a grin that looks like it's two seconds away from tearing her face in half, and she loves it because Santana knows _she _is the only one who's ever seen Brittany like this.

"Okay! Okay!" Brittany yells through giggles, managing to stop her squirming as she grabs Santana's hands. "I give up!"

Santana stops her tickling, and allows her hands to be dragged away by pale ones. They're both breathing heavily, trying to catch their breath from an intense tickle session. During their childhood days, they had what seemed like thousands of them, always because Brittany would refuse to tell Santana something, or vice versa.

The laughter dies out, and so do their smiles, but not for the same reason. It's only now that they realize just how close they are, how their bodies are touching and how this whole situation of being on a bed and being _this _close to each other is strangely familiar.

Every part of Brittany's face is in like high definition. The gray spots in her bright, sparkling eyes, the small freckles on her pale cheeks and her perfectly defined cheekbones that protrude so delicately from her face. She's so damn beautiful that Santana wonders why she doesn't spend the majority of her time just staring at Brittany because right now, that's exactly what she's doing.

They stay like that for a moment, eyes locked, unblinking and breaths heavy and rapid, more resembling panting than breathing.

Brittany's hair is tousled against the mattress from the tickle session, and Santana sucks in a deep breath, willing herself to either say something or do something to try and break herself from this weird stupor she's in, but she can't. All she can do is let her eyes do what they want, and what they want is to fix on Brittany's lips like they're the only thing in the world right now.

But then of course, Santana remembers they _really _shouldn't be doing this right now, not only because they're in the middle of Manhattan in a mattress store, but because she's married.

She climbs off Brittany reluctantly, and sits up, throwing her legs over the edge as her hands grip tightly onto the mattress. "Uh, so, what do you think? This mattress? Or the other?"

It takes everything she has not to look back at Brittany's reaction, because she knows it'll result in some heavy drinking later on tonight that may or may not burn away the imprinted image of that in her mind, but will definitely results in a hangover — one that will probably tie in with the one she's still going through.

"This one."

Before Santana can turn around to locate the source of the voice, Brittany's up and walking away briskly towards the counter.

Santana exhales slowly, bites her bottom lip, shakes her head and breathes out, "Good choice," sarcastically to herself because the double meaning is just too fucking perfect not to say it.

* * *

><p>It's Christmas Eve.<p>

And Santana still hasn't bought any damn presents.

Not that she has a lot of people to buy presents for, because truthfully can count the number of people on one hand. Brittany, Antonio, Sophie, The Pierce's and—because Brittany's making her—her mother.

But Sophie's already claimed hers, Antonio won't be around until February next year so it's not like she'll have to get one for him pronto, and The Pierce's—

"I already sent a present off from you to my mom and dad," Brittany explains as she walks into Santana's apartment living room and sits down on the sofa next to Santana, grasping a tub of Ben & Jerry's in one hand, spoon in the other. "So all you need to get now is your mom's."

Santana grins, shaking her head because Brittany knows her too well. "Can y—"

"And I'm not buying your mother's, San. She's _your _mom," Brittany scoops out a lump of ice cream and lets it hover by her mouth. "It's bad enough that you're not buying one for your dad."

Brittany bites into the ice cream and Santana quirks an eyebrows. "Sensitive teeth, Britt."

"Ow," Brittany whines as she drops the spoon into the tub and covers her mouth with her hand.

Santana giggles. "Told you."

Brittany sticks out her tongue, which is covered in a white creamy substance. It resembles something strangely arousing and Santana finds herself gulping against a thickened throat and tucking her knees up by her chest, even though she knows it's just melted ice cream. Stupid vanilla flavor.

After about a few seconds, Brittany's face relaxes from its pained expression and she returns to licking the ice cream, which really isn't helping either.

"Don't change the subject, San. You've gotta go buy a present for your mom."

Santana pouts. "She's a bitch, Britt. You know that."

"She's your mom."

"She's a bitch."

"Still your mom."

It's a stupid argument, one that Santana knows she's going to lose because to Brittany, family is family, no matter what.

"Fine," Santana huffs, crossing her arms. "I'll go buy a damn present but I'm not happy about it," she pauses and looks at her pointedly. "Or happy with you, for that matter."

Brittany shrugs and grins. "I'm sure I'll get over it."

Santana squints and purses her lips. "Ass."

"You love me."

"Whatever."

* * *

><p>"Which one?" Brittany asks, holding up a two make-up bags. "Purple or blue?"<p>

"I don't care," Santana grunts, tapping her foot impatiently as she glances around the shop.

Brittany pokes her in the shoulder, and pulls her brows together. "San, choose."

She can't stop the grin when she turns and sees Brittany frowning and pouting simultaneously. It's the same expression she gets every single time Brittany's trying to be mad at her but it never stays that way for long.

"If the wind changes your face is going to stay like that you know," Santana quips, quirking an eyebrow.

Blue eyes narrow. "Just because I believed you in high school, doesn't mean I will now."

Santana chuckles and pulls a toothy grin. "Sure, Britt. Sure."

Santana has never been one for Christmas shopping, or shopping in general. She's always sworn to hate it, and said that it's only fun when you have your dad's credit card with an unlimited amount and can basically buy whatever the hell you want, but even then it's pretty damn boring. The people, the security guards that even now seem to follow her around the store (despite her being a respectable adult) and even the damn shops. Why does there have to be so many things in the world? Someone should invent a universal present that everyone will enjoy, and that'll last forever so the buying will be a one-time thing and that's that.

"Not all of us a Scrooge's," Brittany replies, grinning widely. "Some people _like _Christmas shopping."

Santana looks around, confused. Was she speaking out loud? "What?"

"You're doing that thing, that looks like…" Brittany puts down both of the make-up bag and puts on an expression that Santana can only imagine is an impersonation of her own. "Where you think too much. Plus, you were talking out loud."

"Sorry," Santana mumbles, scuffing her shoe along the ground. "I'm just bored."

"Well if you chose a color," she pauses to point towards the make-up bags. "Then we could get out of here."

"I don't think she'd want a make-up bag." Santana says, disinterestedly.

Brittany's face falls. "Well what _would _she want then? Make your damn mind up."

She says the sentence with affection lacing it, so Santana giggles and says, "I don't know. Maybe some dog crap in a brown paper bag. Hand it to her, maybe set it on fire and maybe she'll leave me the hell alone."

"San…" Brittany warns in a low tone.

Santana throws her arms up in the air. "I don't know, Britt! Maybe a cheap vase or something. She'll probably end up selling it anyway."

"Perfect."

Brittany grabs Santana's wrist and tugs her out the shop, and down the path to her right until they get to a small-town shop. There's several different glass displays in the window, all of which contain various glass objects like drinking glasses or vases, and a few pieces of jewelery to the far left. Santana's barely aware the journey though as her eyes are fixed on the long, slender fingers curled around her wrist. Her feet are moving, but her mind is set on where they're touching, and how her skin is burning where Brittany's meets hers.

"San?" Brittany says, quietly, trying to catch her attention.

Santana breathes deep, shaking her head and trying to restart her brain. "Huh?"

"You need to choose this one. I'm not your servant."

"But you'd like to be," Santana winks, pushing the innuendo further. Although, as soon as her eye flicks back open, she realizes just how awkward her gesture and words were and starts to open her mouth, like she can actually form any words, to say something.

But Brittany swats away the awkward sign hanging in the air, and smile. "Actually, I'm good. I have standards."

Santana's laughing, even though she knows she could be offended, but it's just how they work, faking insults and cracking jokes at each other.

Still, she plays along anyway, swiping her hands down her clothes. "Puh—lease, Brittany. If you got the chance you'd be all up on this."

"I could get this," Brittany steps closer, biting her lip as her eyes darken, trailing down Santana's body and back up again, _incredibly _slowly. "Anytime I want."

Santana gulps, feeling her cheeks flush pink as Brittany's breath blankets her face. The expression on Brittany's face sends a shot of arousal down her body, where it bottoms out below her belt. "Uh... Uh."

But then Brittany grins, evilly, steps back and straightens up. "Gotcha." She says through a chuckle, before entering the shop and holding the door open.

Santana slides in, murmuring a quick thank you and then proceeds to walk around the shop, trying to shake of the growing arousal in the pit of her stomach. What the hell just happened? If she didn't know any better, she'd be thinking Brittany was flirting with her… Then again, does she know any better?

The shop is quaint. There's various colors darted around the shop, none of which seem to be organized. On the right hand side of it, a row of glass cases, identical to the ones in the window, line it – all containing various glass objects. But to the left of the shop, there are a few thin tables propped up against the wall, stacked with black velvet shapes forming various body parts. There's a neck, with a small chain hanging off it, a hand with a few silver rings on the fingers, and thenmuch to Santana's disgust—she's always hated toes, they're like fingers for your feet—there's a foot with a couple of different colored toe rings. In the center of the shop, there's a counter with an old-fashioned brass till and a smiling red-head behind it.

Her fingers dance across the glass cabinet as she moves from one side to the other, whilst her eyes take in the various objects. There's pretty much every type of vase in there, block vase, cube case, tower vase, unique vase etc.

(Where the hell did this extensive knowledge on vases come from?)

"Britt," Santana calls, her eyes still trained on a purple vase in the back corner. "Think I got one."

Brittany pops up beside her, bumping her shoulder playfully against Santana's. "Which one?"

Santana points to the vase and turns her head, ready to gauge Brittany's reaction. The blonde nods in approval, tucking a piece of her own hair behind her ear which despite the simplicity of the gesture, makes Santana's eyes widen in fascination. How is that possible?

"I like it."

"Awesome," Santana grins, trying to distract Brittany from the awe present in her face. "I'll get the lady."

She waves the still smiling redhead from behind the counter, and nods, as if to say _we want to buy something_. Apparently it works, despite the stupidity of the idea, and she walks over two seconds later, key in hand. Brittany steps back, allowing the redhead to slide in and open the lock, whilst humming along to the Beyoncé song playing on the radio overhead and Santana grins at her best friend, imagining her swaying to the music inside her dance studio, along with a few kids. She definitely knows how Brittany went on tour with Beyoncé. This girl can shake her ass like she's black and move like a dream across the stage.

"Come on Britt," Santana says as the redhead walks back to the counter. "You know this one."

Brittany's eyes sparkle at Santana, and then she bites her lip and shakes her head in a silent refusal. "San, no."

But being Santana, she ignores her and raises both arms up in front of her, pumping them back and forth whilst moving her knees in a similar action like she's seen Brittany do. "Like this?"

Brittany starts laughing, her face widening with a toothy grin as the most harmonious chuckle comes out. She slaps Santana playfully on the shoulder, as if to say _stop _because she can't, but Santana only continues, putting her hands up in the air and swaying her hips, bumping hers against Brittany's. Soon enough, they both start chuckling, laughing about like a couple of teenagers, whilst Santana stands behind Brittany and grabs her wrists, motioning them back and forth and saying, '_This is the Santana Ladies Dance' _in opposed to the '_Single Ladies Dance'._

Brittany's back vibrates against Santana's chest as they both continue to laugh, with their hands flailing about and resembling mental health patients, but they don't care. They're having fun.

After a minute or two, the laughter dies down and Santana's left with aching cheek and abs muscles. She pats her stomach, as if that's going to help the hurt and looks up to see Brittany doing the same thing.

"You're such a loser," Brittany states playfully, remains of her laughter still cracking through on a few of her words.

Santana scrunches her nose. "At least I'm not alone."

"Yeah, yeah," Brittany laughs. "Now pay up."

They turn back to the counter, and Santana shoots the redhead a quick smile, whose name is Emma according to her name badge, and Santana drums her fingers drum on the counter top impatiently. Emma carefully picks up the piece, and marvels at it between her hands, before flicking her wide eyes towards Brittany and Santana with a sappy smile.

"Couples always love this piece."

Santana's face drops and she blinks incredulously. "Excuse me?"

Emma gestures to the vase, and grins widely. "Couples always love this piece. Newlyweds I presume?"

The awkwardness runs through Santana, and she can't find it inside herself to summon any words. Her eyes flicker towards Brittany, who's shuffling her weight onto her other leg and plucking at the hem of her shirt. Apparently Santana's not the only one feeling awkward.

So she clears her throat and tries to act cool. "Uh, no. We're not married."

"Oh, well please do accept my apologies." Emma starts, wrapping the vase in a layer of bubble wrap for protection whilst shaking her head. Santana can just imagine this woman being a counselor or something; her tone is condescending and empathetic, and she generally has an awkward aura about her. Just like Santana knows counselors to have.

Brittany's phone starts to buzz next to her, playing out a robotic version of a classic British telephone. "Sorry, I'm just gonna get this," she mutters, her voice low and straining with the awkward atmosphere.

Santana nods, and watches as Brittany steps out the shop, phone pressed to her ear. Her eyes linger on the way Brittany twirls a piece of hair between her fingers when the conversation gets interesting, and how she inspects her nails when it gets boring, or how she taps her foot when she just wants to get off the phone. Even though the stupid cashier just made the atmosphere really fucking awkward—and she probably shouldn't be thinking this for more than one reason—she can't take her mind off how cute Brittany looks when she scrunches her nose, throws back her head and chuckles.

"That's the third time I've done that this week."

Intrigued, Santana quirks an eyebrow, turns and leans one palm onto the counter top to stare at Emma. "Done what?"

"Met a couple and assumed they're newlyweds because they're in love." The redhead announces, breaking off a piece of sellotape and applying it. "The first time I did it, the couple ended up arguing and walking out without paying. I mean, I didn't chase after them because it was the least I could do." Emma looks up, eyebrows raised innocently and a small smile on her face. "Will that be all?"

"Uh, yeah."

Santana hands over a twenty dollar bill, and then grabs the bag before smiling at Emma and turning. Just as she goes to exit, with her mind swimming with confused thoughts, she hears an _excuse me _and then sees Emma walking up towards her.

"You forgot your receipt," Emma says, handing over the small piece of flimsy paper. "Oh, and please forgive me for my rudeness. But if I were you, I wouldn't wait that long for that one. She loves you."

Startled, Santana stumbles on her words and comes out with something resembling _what _and _huh, _which ends up being, "Whuh?"

"Judging by her face when I mentioned marriage," Emma nods towards the window pane, which Brittany's standing outside of, still on the phone, "She wants it because she loves you."

"Sh—she l—loves me?"

Emma nods. "That looks says it all."

Santana's wary for a minute, her eyes trained on the redhead as her body twists round. Seconds later, her eyes flicker towards the windowpane, immediately locking eyes with Brittany. The blonde's eyes are bright and sparkling, almost twinkling as her pink lips start to curl up at the side. A perfectly set of white teeth show as the grin widens, and blue eyes transform into crystal sapphire whilst her wonderfully pale skin glows. She doesn't fight the huge grin that spreads across her own face in return, and she knows that being friends with Brittany will undoubtedly end up with her being a wrinkly old woman with all that smiling and laughing.

But Santana's taken aback for a moment as a certain sparkle catches her attention, and her head involuntarily tilts to the side as if she's inspecting her best friend. There's nothing uncertain behind Brittany's eyes, nothing bad or negative and one look into Brittany's eyes could tell anyone about her personality. The clear, bright and pure blue that create her beautiful orbs reflect herself, and in the back of her mind, Santana wonders if that means her dark, brown eyes describe her personality. If it does then _fuck._

"And so does yours."

The words seep into her brain, letter by letter, and it takes a few seconds before Santana can process them. "What?"

But by the time she turns around, Emma's already returned to the counter, serving another customer and smiling innocently like she'd never said a word. There's no reason why Santana should feel weird about this stranger's speculation, after all, it is a _s__tranger's _speculation. That doesn't mean a thing when it comes to her and Brittany. Damn, even her mother thought there was something going on between them, and had done for years. But that doesn't mean it's true. Sure, it's strange, two people so close that they're mistaken for a couple who're deeply in love, but it doesn't matter.

Then again, why didn't Santana correct Emma?

"Are you planning on buying anything else or can we go get something to eat?" Brittany smiles, after suddenly appearing in front of Santana. "I'm starving."

The doorbell rings as they step out, and Santana throws a quick glance over to Emma who smiles politely at her and mouths _she loves you. _Finally, when she manages to get her bearings and puts one foot in front of the other, she turns back to Brittany and forces a smile.

"Sure, Britt. Whatever you want."

* * *

><p><em>Barney's <em>is without doubt, Santana's favorite bar.

It's her sanctuary where she can let loose, get Grayson the cook to make her _the _best burger she's ever had, order a few beers and basically kick back and chill out. Ever since discovering it during her college days, she decided that every Wednesday night from 7.30pm onwards, _Barney's _would be her hiding place for a few relaxed hours. Barney, the actual owner of the bar was pretty forgiving when she turned up on her 21st birthday finally being able to give him her real name, and ever since she'd been coming every Wednesday.

Yeah, sure, _Barney's _is a little shady. It's one of those back-alley bars with a jukebox in the corner, a few rogue cops by the cigarette machine, the stereotypical regulars and a scuffed up pool table in the center with snapped in half cues, but it's Santana's place. It's her hiding place, her time-alone place that she's never shared with anyone, including Sophie.

So when she walks into _Barney's_, shooting a smile at the new bouncer Karofsky, with Brittany in toe, she should've been more prepared for the gobsmacked expressions on their faces.

"Hey Santana," Barney greets, eyes flickering between Brittany and herself. "Who's your friend?"

"Brittany," the blonde offers, along with her hand which Barney gladly takes. "Nice to meet you."

Barney looks skeptical. "You too."

Santana nods and then sidles up on one of the stools, gesturing to the one beside her for Brittany to take. Without even asking, Barney slides a Budweiser across the counter top, before pausing and looking at Brittany with a confused expression. It's only confused because _Barney's _has never been one for new customers. Strange as it seems, ever since Santana came here during her college days, and received the _exact same _expression, no-one new has ever walked through the door. So it's not all that surprising that Barney's opening and closing his mouth like he doesn't know what the hell to serve a woman of Brittany's stature.

"And for you?" Barney asks, warily, his eyes still darting between the two.

Brittany snaps herself from surveying the room, her eyes bright and sparkling like she _likes _what she sees. It's not that Santana hates the interior of the bar, but red upholstered benches and stools, dim lights and dark walls doesn't exactly give out the homey vibe_._

"Hmm," Brittany ponders, looking at the various liquor bottles stacked on the far shelves. "SoCo, L and L, please."

Barney turns to Santana with a _what the fuck _expression, so Santana chuckles, throws back the rest of her beer before rounding the bar and sliding in like she owns the place.

"I'll get it," she mutters to Barney, who throws a dirty rag over his shoulder, smiles and heads out the back door, probably for a cigarette. She could own the place, she knows everyone well enough too.

"Are you even allowed to do that?" Brittany asks, eyes grinning but no smile present on her face. "Like you own the place?"

Santana winks and grabs the glass bottle with _lime cordial scribbled_ on the front. "I basically _do _own the place with the amount of money I put into it."

Brittany leans one elbow on the bar top, resting her head in her hand. "Oh yeah? Through what? Bets and beers?"

"Yeah, actually," Santana smiles, throwing up a small glass into the air and catching it behind her back. She's learned a few things from Barney over the years, plus, pre-Sophie times, it would make any of her dates practically drool over her at the bar in her apartment. "Pretty much spot on there, Britt."

"I doubt Sophie would be pleased if you came home with a bartenders salary, San."

The lime cordial is still pouring out the bottle, but Santana's movements are long gone. She's paused, one hand grasping a glass bottle and the other grasping the sofa gun. She looks up after a long second, eyes narrowed and brows pushed together. "What's that meant to mean?"

Brittany just smiles and leans back. "Nothing."

And Santana can't be bothered to ask because in all honesty, she already knows what that means. Sophie's never been one for lack of money, in fact on the night they met, Sophie had told her countless times how many guys she'd slept with just so they bought her something. It hadn't bothered Santana much back then, mostly because she thought that within twelve hours, she'd never be seeing the woman again, but as time went on, the annoyance had increased, especially when Sophie would _conveniently 'forget' _to bring her purse to dinner. Typical.

"Oh." Santana returns to mixing the drink. "Okay."

A few ice cubes and three shots of _Southern Comfort _later, Santana's back to the stool sipping on another bottle of beer. "Are you still hungry?"

Brittany crosses one leg over the other, sips her glass and raises one side of her lip. "Meh, a bit."

"How can you go from _starving _to _a bit _hungry?" Santana chuckles, running one hand through her hair. "Pretty sure that's not possible."

"I may have been over exaggerating a little," Brittany admits, grinning widely. "But that redheaded woman kept giving me creepy looks."

Santana's throat thickens, and she looks away, spinning halfway on the stool to face the bar again. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. What were you two talking about anyway?"

The memory of the conversation runs through her brain. She's not going to tell Brittany what they _actually _said, mostly because if Brittany asked her why she didn't just admit they weren't together in the first place, she'd just sit there, shrugging like an idiot. Plus, it'd be a little weird, telling your best friend that some random shop worker thinks she's in love with you. Then again, it could be because Santana doesn't want to hear the answer, doesn't want to hear the denial and then feel like her stomach just fell out her ass. Not that she would because you know… She doesn't care what Brittany feels for her. Not at all.

"Santana?" Brittany reaches over and brushes the edge of her hand against Santana's cheeks, fingertips momentarily delving into her dark locks. "Come back."

Unconsciously, Santana finds herself leaning into the touch and snaps herself out of it. "Huh?"

"I asked what you and Emma were talking about," Brittany explains, retracting her hand and placing it back around her glass. "And then you went all spacey on me."

Santana fingers the label of her bottle and bites down on her lower lip. "Oh, my bad. We were just talking about vases." The excuse is so awful that she doesn't even believe herself, and nearly scoffs as her eyes flicker down to the small bag by her feet.

"Vases?"

"Yeah, vases."

She can feel Brittany's quizzical expression boring into the side of her temple, and can practically spell out the word _bullshit _she knows is going to follow anytime soon. Well, that's until Brittany's phone buzzes against the counter top, creating a woody vibration that surges down the entire bar. It's cheap, what you gonna do about it?

Brittany picks up her phone, and slides it before her eyes dart from left to right, reading the text. Almost immediately, she breaks out into a strangely large smile and Santana sips on her beer, narrowing her eyes and trying to look as disinterested as she can.

Of course, the curiosity gets the better of her, and no more than three seconds later, she asks, "Who's that?" as nonchalantly as possible.

"Just some guy," Brittany shrugs, tapping one final time on her phone before clicking the top and placing it back down on the counter top. "No biggy."

Santana smirks and raises an eyebrow, "A _guy_, huh?" She nudges her shoulder playfully against Brittany's, earning a chuckle.

"Yeah. _guy_. You know, like the opposite sex to us."

"I know what it means," Santana replies quickly. "Smart ass."

Even when the word smart is used in the context is just has been, Brittany seems to beam with joy. It's not like Brittany was stupid because she's _never _been stupid. During high school, sure, she had an independent way of thinking, one that would require a lot of understanding to actually make sense of her thoughts and sentences, but stupid? Never.

"Ass," Brittany pipes up, sipping the last over her vodka before looking around the bar. "Where's the loo?"

Santana continues to laugh, and takes her elbow of the counter to wave towards the right of the bar. "Over there, through the door that doesn't look like thousands of grubby man hands have been on it."

"Okay," Brittany hops down from the stool, phone in hand. "Be back in a minute."

Santana's skeptical to say the least. Her expression is reflecting it as her eyes trail Brittany across the bar, until she disappears behind a wooden door. All the years of knowing Brittany, and never once has she gone to the toilet with her phone, something about it being unhygienic and unpleasant. _What if someone calls you when you're peeing? _Santana recalls in a Brittany like-voice inside her mind.._That'd just be awkward_.

The memory creates a chuckle to rumble from the pit of her stomach, and she suppresses it knowing how sad she'd look to anyone who hadn't seen Brittany with her. She'd just look like some strange, lonely woman drinking in a shady bar and giggling quietly to herself. Well, possibly without the _quiet _part.

She takes these few alone moment to survey the bar. Over in the far corner, there's just an empty space next to the cigarette machine—where the two rogue cops usually are—strange but not unusual in the recent weeks. To the left of the machine, there's the Jukebox, up against the wall and playing out some smooth jazz, Michael Buble or Anita Baker probably, and then to the left of that, is the deserted pool table. She has nothing better to do, so she gets up, and heads towards the table.

By the time she reaches the pool table, she finally realizes the lack of people inside of the bar. She knows it's not usually full, but there are at least a few people, five minimum, but tonight, there's just her, Barney and Brittany, even though Barney isn't anywhere to be seen at the moment.

"Up for a game?"

Santana turns to the voice. Brittany's standing there, hip cocked against the pool table and slight smirk on her face. Her blonde hair is hanging over one side of her shoulder, revealing the toned, pale skin of her other. Maybe it's the fourth beer talking… But damn, Brittany's looking really hot right now.

"Uh, yeah. You down with that, Britt?"

Brittany smiles, and walks towards Santana, biting her bottom lip. "Only if you're prepared to have your ass kicked."

"Sure, Britt." Santana turns back to the table, setting up the pool balls into triangle. "If that makes you feel any better, then you can believe it."

There's affection lacing her tone, and Brittany slaps her in the arm playfully before grabbing two pool cues which much to Santana's surprise aren't actually snapped in half. Brittany doesn't seem to notice, and hands one to her before setting up her first shot after calling _shotgun_. She shoots, and the balls spread across the table, one going straight into the top right hand corner pocket.

"Damn," Santana comments, eyebrows meeting her hairline. "Who knew you could play."

"I learned a few things during past two years," Brittany points out, eyes still trained on where to take her next shot. She spots it a few seconds later, and then slowly turns towards Santana. "Things you don't know about," she adds with another wink.

Santana gulps against a very thickened throat. Shit, is Brittany flirting with her? "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

There's only the sound of Brittany taking another shot, and the balls clinking together. Santana looks around the room, tightening her grip on the pool cue and trying not to focus on the fact that Brittany's ass is sticking out, just at the right angle for her to stare at. Is that intentional?

"Just things," Brittany quips, letting out a laugh that Santana's pretty sure is flirtatious. She straightens up, nodding approvingly at where the balls are spread across the dark green felt and then slipping onto one of the many vacant tables surrounding the pool table. The blonde picks up her drink, and licks her lips before sipping gently at the glass and it seems the simple action has Santana dazed, because her mouth is slightly open and her breathing is getting heavier, not to mention her pants are tighter.

Santana narrows her eyes and manages to grin, despite the discomfort she's feeling beneath her skinny jeans. "Right, _things._"

Brittany hums and Santana moves around the table, trying to find a decent angle to shoot at whilst glancing at each of the balls. Damn, she has no idea when Brittany learned to play but she might as well just give up now. But surely enough, she finds a shot and makes quick work of it. Unfortunately, no balls go in, but her mind isn't exactly focused on _those _balls at the moment, especially with Brittany smirking at her through dark blue eyes.

"So," Santana starts, trying to take her attention away from her best friend that's pretty much bending over inches away from her. "Who was on the phone?"

Brittany edges her arm back and forth, trying to find the right amount of pressure. "Um, a guy."

"Yeah," Santana's voice is inquisitive. Possibly a little too inquisitive, but she can't fight the way there's a wash of jealousy churning in the pit of her stomach as well as the liquor. Alcohol has never done anything great for her. "What guy?"

"Some guy I know," Brittany shrugs before shooting, the ball going straight into middle left pocket. "No-one special."

She doesn't know whether it's the alcohol, or whether it's the jealousy, or even the alcohol and jealousy mixing together but suddenly she's pressed up against Brittany's side, leaning a little too closely and inhaling her best friend's sweet scent. "Who is it?"

"Why do you, um—" Brittany gulps audibly, eyes still trained on her unmoving cue. "Want to know?"

"Curiosity," Santana replies, backing away and immediately missing the buzz she felt between their skin. "Never hurt anyone," she adds, perching on the table Brittany was previously occupying.

Brittany shoots, the cue sliding over the ball and missing completely. "Curiosity killed the cat, San."

"What cat?"

Santana grins as Brittany turns and raises a fair eyebrow. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Santana hops off the table to take her turn. "I know what you mean.

* * *

><p>It's 1am when Barney interrupts their intense game of pool to tell them that he's going home. They've been playing for a good hour or two, and during that time they've been getting free drinks from Barney who hand delivered them. There's a small brunette behind the bar, giggling hysterically and muttering things to the bar tender whenever he disappears, and Santana just rolls her eyes with Brittany every time they hear an <em>oh my God <em>or _you're so funny. _Seriously, that chick just wants some dick.

"I'm going home, guys," Barney announces, slapping the small brunette's ass as she leaves the bar through the front door. "Santana, lock up on your way out?"

Santana nods, and feels the shocked expression on Brittany's face from across the table. "Sure, Barney. Thanks. I'll leave you a little something next to the till for tomorrow."

"Cheers," Barney says, shrugging his coat on and pulling up the lapels. "Nice to meet you, Brittany." He looks to Santana and nods. "Santana."

He leaves, flicking off the outside lights and shutting the door behind him. Santana turns to Brittany who's no longer lining up her shot, and see's the confused look on her face.

"What?" She slurs a little, feeling the eighth beer sink in.

"I never knew you had a little place like this."

"Like what?"

Brittany smiles up at Santana, before shooting and putting the last of her color balls. "A hiding place."

"Who said it's a hiding place?"

"Come on San," Brittany murmurs, straightening up and returning to her beer. After her third vodka and lemonade, she just wanted to drink a Budweiser with Santana. It's a typical Brittany thing, getting bored of the drink she has and turning to something more simplistic, just because it's easier to make. Well, receive more like. "You're like the president of this place. Everyone knows you, and _Barney _even let you go behind the bar."

Santana grins and brushes past Brittany as she leans to take her shot. "You sound like you have a hiding place."

"Yeah, I do," Brittany hums in agreement as she grabs her Budweiser and takes a short sip.

She shoots, and putts two of her balls, leaving her level with Brittany. "Oh, yeah? And what's yours? The dance studio?"

Brittany fakes a gasp, and puts her free hand over her chest. "Am I that transparent?"

"Shut up," Santana jokes, moving around the table to stand in front of Brittany. "Where is it?"

Blue eyes light up. "That would be telling."

"But I'm your best friend," Santana says as she tries to pout. It was something she never really managed to get a hold on. Brittany was always the pouter, always the one that got what she wanted because she could jut out her bottom lip and have _cuteness overload _branded onto her forehead. Santana however, always had to wear a balcony bra, or a low cut top to get what she wanted, and then she wasn't regarded _cute_, she was known to be _hot _or _smoking. _Not that she really had a problem with that. "You have to tell me."

"Nuh uh." Brittany argues, bending down to reveal her perfect a—_No. _Santana can't think like that. Even though the alcohol level in her bloodstream is making that _incredibly _difficult. "It's not a necessity."

Santana steps closer, and smiles down at her best friend, suddenly finding herself a hell of a lot closer than she was a minute ago. "It should be."

Brittany gives her a wry smile. "Well, it's not. Deal with it."

Brittany straightens up, the whoosh of air as she does so washing over Santana's face. She doesn't know when the hell this happened, but they're now about three inches away from each other, with what seems like less than that between their bodies. A spark ignites over her body as they gaze into each others eyes, the warmth radiating through every inch of her. Every moment they've had together over the past few weeks, seem to flash before her eyes — every touch, every word, and every look.

Stupid Emma, the ginger shop assistant clouding Santana's brain with her wide-eyes and confusing words. If it wasn't for her, Santana wouldn't be standing here in front of her best friend, one that she cheated on her then fiancée with merely weeks ago, with her eyes flicking between dark cerulean orbs and perfectly pink lips. Scenes from that conversation begin to flash through her mind. Not now, she doesn't need that now; even worse, scenes from the night of their first which had her doubting her own damn marriage are joining her memories. The way their bodies clicked together perfectly, how their lips found a familiar yet brand new rhythm and moved, and how it just felt so damn right.

And on top of all of that, she knows her tanned complexion is growing redder with every passing second, and that it'd be pretty damn hard for Brittany _not _to notice.

And now that damned mesmerizing kiss they shared is screening every restraint possible inside her mind, slowly crumbling any resolve she has to pull away before it's repeated again, because if she stays like this, she knows she won't pull away.

So she doesn't.


	8. chapter eight

**Sorry for the wait guys, and I'm even more sorry that this is basically just a filler chapter. But I definitely promise to make it up to you in the next few chapters!**

**I thank all of you for your reviews and story alerts etc. and you guys truly are fabulous!**

**Please try and enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Eight]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>8.9k

* * *

><p>Santana's eyes widen as she sees the expression on Brittany's face and the shade of blue change. She's seen that look before – a few weeks ago when… <em>Oh<em>. It seems Santana's not the only one thinking about _that_ night. Her heart starts pounding, chest throbbing against the beat and she can feel the pool cue slipping out her hand from the clamminess brewing in her palms.

But…

Yes, there's always a fucking _but._ Nothing's changed since the last time they were this close, nothing's changed at all. Sophie's still Santana's wife and Brittany's still her best friend. It's off limits. _Way_ off limits. And frankly, despite it feeling really fucking right, her moral guidelines knows better.

So, incredibly reluctantly, she utters the first words that pop into her mind and immediately bites down on the regret she feels washing through her body. "Another drink?"

"No," Brittany breathes, still unmoving from her close proximity. "I've got one."

Santana summons the strength to move away, and slides away to perch back on the table. There's a strange atmosphere floating around them. It's not surprising really, considering there's obviously something blooming between them, or _had_ been before she stupidly stepped away. Wait, no, not _stupidly_.

"It's Mike."

She's pulled from her thoughts, and swigs down a sip of her beer to hide the jealousy biting at her tongue. Not fucking Mike _Chang._ Mike Chang and his muscular body, well paid job, high status and sickeningly good dance moves. Mike Chang and his blood boiling kindness, and the difficulty to hate him because he's _not_ actually a bad person. _Fuck._

The disinterest flashes across her face, and she feels her upper lip curl in preparation to show it. "As in, _Chang_? Mike _Chang?_"

"Yeah." Brittany nods, lining up her next shot. "We got talking at the wedding."

Well that's just fucking great. Not only is Brittany now seeing this guy, but she practically pushed them towards each other. As if them working together wasn't bad enough already. _Fuck._ "Oh. That's nice."

Halfway towards the pool table, Brittany stands in front of her, dangerously close. "Is that okay?"

_No. _"Yes."

Brittany seems unconvinced - her brows are furrowed, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. "Are you sure?"

They're too close to be having a conversation like this, especially with the alcohol coursing through her bloodstream and obviously wanting spark igniting between the two. This is her best friend – this is _Brittany._ Santana should be happy for her. Mike's a good guy, he would treat her well, and they would be good together. But all of that kind of makes the situation worse. Why couldn't she pick a jackass to date? That would make everything _so_much easier.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Santana retorts sharply, her tone holding accusation. Still, despite her actually forcing the unheard question, she can't help but feel guilty. _She's_ the one that's married, to her wife, who she lives with, and so on. _Not_ Brittany. "I don't care."

Brittany sucks in her top lip, her eyes flashing with disappointment as she lets out a breathy sigh and shakes her head. Without answering the question, she brushes past Santana, abandoning the game as she puts her pool cue back into its holster and grabs her coat. "It's late. We should be going."

And then she exits, leaving Santana to feel just that little bit shitter. _Fucking great._

* * *

><p>Idling at another pedestrian light whilst the New York traffic drives by, Santana turns to Brittany on her right. She's standing there, arms crossed and blonde hair flowing in the light breeze, and apart from the subtle hardness behind her usually bright blue eyes, she'd seem pretty care free. But this is Brittany and Santana we're talking about, and Santana can always see it. She's <em>always<em> seen it.

"You okay?" She asks, tentatively.

There's a pause before Brittany looks at her with a '_really?'_ look on her face. "Yep, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Santana asks, because she knows Brittany isn't _fine._"Because you don't seem it."

"I'm fine." Brittany repeats in a dismissive tone.

Santana feels her face get hot with anger. What the hell did she even do? Instead of mulling over possibilities, she stops, pulling Brittany around by the elbow and gazing at her.

"San, what the-"

"What did I do?" Santana demands, quirking one eyebrow and pursing her lips.

Brittany looks taken aback by the question and tugs her arm out of Santana's grasp. "Nothing."

Once again, Santana lurches forward and pulls on Brittany's elbow, spinning the blonde around until they're staring at each other. "Britt."

"San."

There's a small smile trying to tug at her lips, and she knows it's the alcohol making this situation more comical than it should be. Especially with Brittany's lips quirking up at the side slightly, just like her own.

"Stop it." Santana says, firmly, hardening her facial muscles so the smile can't break through. "Don't make me smile, tell me what I've done."

Brittany's face falls, sensing the seriousness in Santana's tone and her features turn stoic. "You haven't done anything."

"Then why _the fuck,_ are you off with me?" Her voice is louder than she expected, and Brittany looks around the street quickly, blushing as she notices several people staring over in their direction. But Santana doesn't care, right now she's pissed. An hour ago, Brittany was flirting with her, getting all up in her personal space, and now, Brittany's looking off into the distance blankly and dismissing most of Santana's questions with short, blunt answers. So she wants to know what the fuck is going on?"

"It's fucking Christmas Eve, and we're arguing in the middle of the street at two o'clock in the morning." Santana gestures around the street, to a few people watching them warily. "So could you just fucking tell me what I've done so we can sort this shit out?"

Brittany crosses her arms, taps her foot impatiently on the floor and licks her lips briefly before squaring her shoulders. "_You_ haven't done anything, okay? It's all me. I'm angry at myself."

"What?" Santana's eyes narrow in confusion. "Why are you angry at yourself?"

Brittany opens her mouth, but the swiftly closes it. Blue eyes don't meet brown as they search the street, but Santana knows Brittany isn't actually looking for or at anything – just trying to avoid eye contact. It's a nervous habit that Santana's learnt over the past few years, where Brittany wants to say something, but can't. Usually it starts with watery eyes, or fidgeting hands, then it goes onto avoiding eye contact and then to either breaking down and blurting out everything, or shutting Santana out completely.

And for some reason, Santana doesn't think it's going to be the first one.

"I just…" Brittany breathes in, pushing her fingertips into her temples and rubbing furiously. "Mike asked me out and I don't know what to do."

Santana's quizzical. Why would Brittany be mad at herself for that? "He asked you out?"

"Yeah."

She takes a step forward, closing the gap between them and losing all spatial awareness as their faces inch closer together. "And what are you going to say?"

"Uhm…" Brittany stutters, biting her bottom lip and flicking her eyes down towards Santana's lips and then back up again.

Santana gulps audibly, and then shuffles the tiniest bit closer until the toes of their shoes are touching. Her breath is mingling with Brittany's in the miniscule space between them, and their eyes are darting between each other. The air is thick with a tense atmosphere buzzing between them, and she knows that Brittany can sense it too.

Someone honks a horn and they're both broken from the trance they've fallen under. Brittany's head jerks away like she's just been physically shocked, and Santana almost recoils too. But she needs to know, she doesn't know why, but she's certain she _needs _too. Maybe it's alcohol, maybe it's this weird Brittany bubble she's standing in, or maybe it's because she's starting to realize something she should've done a long time ago.

"Well?" Santana presses on, stepping forward again and forcing Brittany to take a step back. "What are you going to say?"

Brittany shifts her weight from one leg to the other and rings her hands in front of her body. The back of her right hand brushes against the small slither of skin showing between Santana's t-shirt and low-rising jeans, and both their eyes widen at the touch. A tingling sensation spirals up her spine, curdling at her nerves and causing them to fizzle out until she physically shivers at the raw feeling coursing through her body. Brittany really shouldn't be having this effect on her, but right now she couldn't actually give a crap.

"I already said yes." Brittany admits, flatly, her eyes squinting slightly. "We're going out on Boxing Day."

Santana steps back, the reality of the situation and the ring on her finger weighing down on her. "Boxing Day?"

"Yeah." Brittany nods, stepping further away and creating a respectable distance between the two. "Just for like an hour or two. Few drinks."

Santana tries not to show the huge disinterest flushing through her and hooks her thumbs into the back pockets of her jeans, rocking up onto the balls of her feet nonchalantly. She doesn't mean it, but the next few words come out with raw sarcasm and jealousy, _incredibly_ evident. "Well I hope you have a fucking _great_ time with ninja boy."

Not wanting to see Brittany's reaction, and knowing she's just shown a bit more interest than she wanted too, she swiftly turns and heads down the street, not entirely sure of her destination. There's a large hole burning in between her shoulder blades, and she can feel the blue eyes doing so as she round the corner, and moves out of sight. Without peeping to make sure Brittany wasn't following, she hastily presses her back up against the wall, palms either side of her and pants heavily, widening her eyes and trying to blink away the white spots forming in front of her eyes.

_Damn,_ what the hell was she thinking? Showing plain jealousy and verbally wording it? She might as well have just demanded that Brittany shouldn't go on this date, or written it on a piece of paper and stapled it to her forehead. _Fuck. _Sometimes she can be so damn stupid.

Within a few seconds, Brittany rounds the corner and stands in front of Santana, glaring down at her with fiery blue eyes. Brittany's never been frightening, and up until now, the thought that she could be aggressive and/or scary would've just made Santana chuckle. But staring up into burning cerulean orbs and feeling her body shrink under the glare, she second guesses herself. "Britt?"

"You're such a fucking hypocrite, Santana."

Santana's eyebrows meet her hairline, and she winces at hearing the blonde curse. It just sounds so foreign, so common, so _dirty,_ rolling off Brittany's tongue with such ease. Swearing is definitely one of those things, along with being aggressive, that should be written down in the '_what doesn't suit Brittany' _list. "Excuse me?"

"You," Brittany pokes Santana in the chest hard, "_You _ask what _my_ problem is? We kiss…" Santana opens her mouth to say something, but Brittany pushes her forefinger against her lips to hush her. "No, _I'm _speaking. Anyway, we _kiss,_" Her eyes dart around the street nervously. "And then you go and get married. And as soon as I say I'm going on _one _date, _one_ tiny date, you get all high and mighty and paste the jealousy mask on?"

Santana clenches her jaw and looks away, no longer being able to stare into the accusing blue eyes glaring down at her. Brittany drops her finger from Santana's lips and steps away, crossing her arms and watching her expectantly.

"Brittany, I-"

"No." Brittany interjects. "You don't get a say in what I do, or _who_ I do, for that matter. We're not teenagers anymore, Santana."

Santana continues to stare at the floor, and the various leaves blowing between their feet. It was a weekly routine when they were teenagers. Every Friday night, after a long week at school, they'd go to Brittany's house, stay up late underneath their newly formed blanket forts and discuss who they like, who they're crushing on and whether or not they would go all the way with them. That's where the whole 'if one doesn't like the other, they'd break up' thing came from.

It was stupid too assume that if Santana didn't like one of Brittany's boyfriends or girlfriends _now_, that Brittany would click and break up with them. Because they've grown up, they've both changed drastically. They're not two fifteen year olds bickering of Matt Rutherford, Brittany's first long-term boyfriend and the boy who took her virginity, with Santana showing her clear distaste for him. They're not going to end up crying, and then Brittany saying that she'd break up with him to make sure their friendship was intact. That's not how it's going to work anymore, and Santana _is_ married. Even if since the first meeting, it's been fairly obvious that Brittany and Sophie weren't getting along swimmingly, or that they were going to spurt into close friends. Santana didn't do it for Brittany, so why should Brittany do it for her?

"Besides," Brittany lets out, "You said yourself he was a good guy."

Defeated, Santana sighs and lets her eyes fall shut. "I know."

"So, come on." Brittany turns away, throwing Santana a look over her shoulder. "Let's go somewhere Christmassy. It is Christmas Eve after all."

Reluctantly, Santana nods and trudges along with Brittany – unsure of what their previous conversation now holds for them.

* * *

><p><strong>25th December<strong>

It's Christmas Day.

Not only is it Christmas Day, it's 7am.

Not only is it Christmas Day, and 7am, but her mattress is being jigged around as her best friend jumps up and down like a little kid on… Well, on Christmas morning. Santana cracks open one eye groggily, scrunching her face and immediately wishing that she'd locked her bedroom door. Brittany's still on her knees, still bouncing erratically and _still_ yelling "San! San! San!" - over and over again.

Santana lets out a heavy grunt, and manages to bite her tongue so a line of Spanish curses don't come out. The backs of her eyes ache and she rubs a hand over her face as turns and faces her best friend. "Britt, it's 7 in the morning." She says in a raspy voice.

"But it's Christmas." Brittany beams with energy no person should possess at this time in the morning. "And you need to get up."

"No." Santana retorts, childishly, rolling onto her other side and pulling the covers up to her chin so she's not facing Brittany. "I don't want to get out of bed."

"You have to."

"No, I don't."

"Yes." Brittany tugs on Santana's bicep, pulling her onto her back and holds her stare. "You do."

"No."

And then she stays silent. She squeezes her eyes shut, clamps her fingers around the sheet and holds tight, hoping Brittany will soon give up. The room is warm, and there's a lingering scent of pancakes flowing through the air. She has about zero interest in leaving the bedroom right now, because that'd mean dragging her ass out of bed, putting on some sweatpants and a hoody because the kitchen always seems to feel like the Antarctic in the morning and actually decide what they're going to do for the rest of the day.

So no, staying in bed and sleeping for another four hours seems like the better option.

The room's silent, apart from the sound of her and Brittany's breathing, and soon enough she gets curious and cracks her eye open. Brittany's sitting on her ankles, arms crossed and a judgemental expression on her face. It's only now that she takes note of the lack of Brittany's clothing - small pyjama shorts that could probably pass as underwear and a one size too small white wife beater, with her blonde hair wild around her shoulders. Brittany's always been a morning person, but it truly does stun Santana how someone can look this damn beautiful at _this_ time in the morning.

"San…" Brittany warns, poking Santana's side. "Get up!"

Santana doesn't even open her eyes as she stretches her arms out and grabs Brittany's wrists after she pokes her a few more times. They both start giggling, half-curdling over and wrestling against each other. A quick tug and Brittany's half on top of her, squirming about as Santana playfully struggles with the blonde, both of them trying to gain control, but neither of them willing to surrender. Somewhere along the line, Brittany started straddling Santana, one leg either side of Santana's hips.

"Okay, okay." Santana breathes out, laughter tinging her tone. "I'll get up!"

Brittany stops squirming, and pushes against Santana's shoulders until she's sitting up, looking down at her best friend. Her cheeks are flushed pink, as well as her ears and there's a certain sparkle twinkling behind her bright blue eyes. Santana's hands release from Brittany's arms, slowly sliding down until they take refuge on the blonde's thighs. The room seems to blur away as Brittany reaches across Santana's body, and tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Unconsciously, she leans into the touch, and lets out a small sigh as Brittany's fingers linger a little longer than necessary on her cheekbone.

"Are you sure?" Brittany says, still trying to catch her breath.

Santana gulps and smiles brightly. "Yeah."

"Awesome."

Brittany rolls off Santana, jumping up and heading towards the door. She pauses, one hand gripping the door frame whilst she throws Santana a look over her shoulder and grins. "Five minutes, and I'll be back."

Santana groans and throws her head back against the pillow, "Fine."

And then Brittany disappears.

* * *

><p>It takes about four and a half minutes for Santana to actually kick start her brain and work out how to use her body, since her mind is kind of malfunctioning due to a four hour sleep and the close encounter with a certain blonde. It's common knowledge, especially to Brittany, that she needs at least eight hours sleep or she'll barely be able to form sentences and start answering questions with a grunt. And in about thirty seconds, she knows Brittany's just going to come bouncing back in and start butchering her until she wakes up.<p>

So reluctantly, she drags herself out of bed, and shrugs on a pair of Nike sweatpants and a t-shirt, (because it's lying next to the sweatpants and her hoody isn't, and if she wants a hoody then she'll have to put in more effort and just… No. Not happening) and makes her way towards the kitchen. Brittany comes into view, her back facing Santana and her ass in perfect view as she's bent over, searching one of the bottom cupboards for something.

Suddenly very awake, Santana manages to snap herself out of the head-tilt she's just found herself doing and takes a seat on one of the kitchen island stools. Brittany straightens up and grabs a mug from one of the cabinets and fills it from the pot of coffee, before sliding it across to Santana with an _I knew you'd do what I wanted_ grin.

"You're up."

Santana groans and nods gratefully towards the mug of coffee. "Yeah, thanks to _someone._"

Brittany shrugs as she leans on her elbows and plays with the mug between her own hands, sipping tentatively. "Deal with it."

Santana shakes her head with a smile, and blows the steam off her coffee. "Seriously, what are we doing up at 7am? I know it's Christmas but seriously?"

"I've made pancakes." Brittany announces, placing her mug down and turning to a plate behind her. There are at least twenty or so pancakes on it, and Santana's mouth drops in awe.

"How long have you been up?" Santana asks, her eyes never moving from the stack of pancakes that seem to be moving in slow motion.

Brittany shrugs and slides the plate in front of her, along with two smaller plates and a small pot of maple syrup. She moves around the island, and slides onto the stool next to Santana before dishing out two pancakes onto each of the smaller plates. Santana takes one of the plates, and immediately drizzles a copious amount of maple syrup on them, before grabbing the fork beside her and tucking in.

"Oh my God." Santana moans, swallowing the mouthful of pancakes. "These are so good."

Brittany giggles next to her and cuts up her pancakes delicately. "If I didn't know any better I'd say Sophie never cooked for you."

"She doesn't," Santana admits, eyes still fixed on which piece of pancake she's going to eat next. "We barely actually eat together."

"Oh."

Santana turns to Brittany and raises both eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing." Brittany shakes her head and picks up her coffee, taking a slow sip. "Just glad I can give you something different."

Santana stops eating, half-way through her mouthful and gulps loudly. "Yeah. Thanks. These really are amazing."

"Alright, get a room. Jheeze." Brittany giggles and swats at Santana's bicep playfully.

Santana nudges her shoulder with her own. "Shut up. I could show these pancakes a good time."

"I bet you could."

All the blood drains out of Santana's face and she puts her fork down, slowly spinning on her stool to look at her best friend. Brittany remains unaffected by the movement and continues to sip on her coffee. That's like the third time Brittany's initiated flirting, and still, she doesn't seem to be even the tiniest bit moved by it. Brittany gets up; still ignoring the blatant stare Santana's giving her and grabs both of their plates and dumping them in the sink.

She turns momentarily, and winks at Santana as she says; "Come on, get dressed. We're going out." Before disappearing out the kitchen, just like she did in the bedroom.

* * *

><p>Santana turns the corner, still babbling on about how children should be tied up at children when she finally realises where they're going.<p>

"Uh, Britt? We're not going where I think we're going…" She pauses, and looks hopeful despite knowing there isn't actually anything else remotely interesting down this road. "…Are we?"

Brittany smiles weakly and stops at the stoop of one of the houses. She glances up quickly the stairs towards the front door, and then back down with an apologetic expression. "It's Christmas."

"Britt!" Santana half-yells, throwing her hands up in the air and feeling slightly pissed off at her best friend. "That's why I didn't want to see her_._"

"San," Brittany warns, stepping closer and grabbing both of Santana's hands from the air to bring them down between their bodies. "She's your _mother._"

"She's a bitch."

"We've already had this argument, San. We're here now so we're going in." Brittany lets go of one hand and grabs Santana's wrist, tugging her up the stoop and towards the front door.

Before Santana can object, Brittany's pressing the doorbell with her thumb in quick succession and standing back. There's a clatter and a small _"I'm coming"_ from the other side of the door, and it doesn't come to her surprise that she doesn't recognise the voice, because the door is being pulled open by a black haired guy that can't be any older than Santana.

"Hello." The guy says, eyes scanning up and down Santana's body as he leans casually against the door.

Santana looks at Brittany from the corner of her eye. The guy's wearing an unbuttoned short sleeved plaid shirt with nothing underneath, revealing a steroid fuelled six pack, and a loose pair of sweatpants. Not exactly winter wear.

"Um, hi." Santana mumbles. Quickly, she brings her head back to look at the number hanging off the door. Yeah, this is the right house. So who the hell is this guy?

"Hi, I'm Brittany." Brittany steps forward and cranes her neck to peer over the guy's shoulder. "Is Maria in?"

The guy looks back and turns once more with a raised eyebrow. His dark eyes trail down Brittany's body, lingering a little too long over her legs and chest, before looking up and smirking directly at her and then to Santana. Fucking voyeuristic asshole. Santana has a right mind to kick him so hard he'll be able to taste his ba-

"Why do you want to know, beautiful?"

Brittany steps through the threshold, completely disregarding the random guy's comment and pauses in the foyer, beckoning Santana in. Of course, Santana obliges and stands next to her, snickering at the shocked expression the guy's giving Brittany.

"This is Maria's daughter. " Brittany cocks her head to the side, gesturing to Santana. "So is she or isn't she in?"

"Uh, yeah, she's in." He points down the hall towards the kitchen. "There."

Santana's about to object to being in this house again, mostly because as soon as she moved out she swore never to come back, when fingers thread through her own and tug her down the small hallway and into the kitchen. The house has always had this dingy, cold atmosphere - kind of like what a graveyard feels like if you walked in at the stroke of midnight on Halloween. Even when she was a child, Santana tried to spend as much of her time _out _of the house as possible. And if the Johnson's weren't renting Brittany's house a few doors down, and if the Pierce's were back in town, she'd definitely be sprinting there and locking herself in. It's what she used to do as a child.

"Maria?" Brittany calls. Santana stops in the doorway of the kitchen and let's go of Brittany's hand, taking in the dusty shelves and dirty plates stacked up in the sink. Apparently her mom's been spending too much time banging half of New York to even clean the damn dishes. Then again, now that her dad's fucked off, and stopped being her mom's doormat, she's not that surprised the house has gone to shit.

"Brittany?" A head of greying, dark hair bobs up from a wooden chair - sitting in the four foot area Maria _insists _is a garden – before being followed by a small silk dressing gown, that really can't be doing anything to keep her warm, and then a wrinkled, tanned face. A puff of smoke is blown out in a straight line as Maria grins, revealing surprising white teeth considering the good twenty years she's been smoking. "Brittany, is that you?"

Santana shuffles on her spot, feeling the sort of discomfort you'd get from walking into an asylum. Then again, she's walking into her childhood house – so it's kind of the same thing. Maria takes another long drag, before flicking it into the pure white snow blanketing the small garden and shivers, bouncing back in to reveal how short the dressing gown is. It's pretty disgusting, a fifty year old woman wearing the lack of clothing, especially when it's obviously evident what she's just been doing. _Eurgh._

"Yes, Maria, it's Brittany." Brittany pauses and nudges Santana's shoulder. "Merry Christmas!"

Brittany looks to Santana with an expectant gaze, and when Santana crosses her arms defensively, she gets a firm nudge in the shoulder. "And Santana."

"Mija! Brittany!" Maria raises her arms up in the air with a welcoming gesture and walks towards the girl, after fixing her gown. "You two get more beautiful every time I see you." She coos as she wraps Brittany up in an embrace and holds her arm out for Santana. "Come on, Tana. Come say hola to your madre."

There are a million reasons why Santana doesn't want to give into the hug: the hate she feels for this woman, the disgust she feels for being in this house, the fact her mother's is generally a gold-digging pervy whore, the state of the house, that fucking nickname 'Tana' (that no matter how many times she's asked politely _not_ to be called that – her mother still fucking does - kind of shows Maria's listening skills) and of course the fact that Maria's giving her one of those _I know you're going to hug me eventually _faces – which only makes her want to cling onto the counter, kick, scream and let loose the Spanish curses she's been mentally noting over the duration of her life.

But Brittany reaches back, without breaking away from the hug and yanks on Santana's wrist, pulling her forward until she's pushed up against her mother and Brittany. A strong arm, which she can tell is Brittany's, snakes around her waist and secures them together, so she can't get out. Typical Brittany, trying to be chummy with everyone.

After a few awkward seconds, Santana can't take the stench of sex, cigarettes and alcohol coming off her mother and manages to break loose of the hug, swiftly pulling Brittany away with her. Her mother doesn't seem fazed and moves around the kitchen towards the coffee machine, where she pours out three cups and slides two of them towards Santana and Brittany. It really fucks her off how casual her mother's acting, all homey and domestic, like she actually gives a crap about Santana.

Their family is _still_ fucked up, a week hasn't changed that. Santana's father wasn't there at the wedding, the guy who's young enough to be Maria's son is still somewhere in the house, basking in the aftermath of cougar sex, and judging by the seven empty wine bottles Santana can see from the kitchen island, stacked up by the back door – her mother's _still _a borderline alcoholic at the tender age of fifty seven. It's disgusting.

And Christmas or not, it's not going to change that.

* * *

><p>Two hours into the visit, Santana can't take anymore and she stands abruptly, the legs of the stool scraping against the kitchen tiles. Her face is flushed, the remains of the anger from listening to her mother bitch about her father, is still burning through her veins and it's pretty lucky she's made it this long without breaking. Then again, it could be for the pale hand gripping her thigh and squeezing reassuringly every now and then. That and the fact that with every squeeze, it seems to be moving higher and higher and all Santana can do is imagine what it'd feel like if she shuffled further down the stool.<p>

That would just put the cherry on top of the fucking cake with Maria. Give her a piece of her own medicine and bang Brittany in front of her… It's not like Santana didn't walk in on her mother riding the plumber when she was fifteen – that was fucking fun to hide from her dad. Santana wouldn't do that. She wouldn't downgrade Brittany like that.

Wait, did she really just think about having sex with Brittany?

"Tana?" Maria says, innocently, sipping on the last of her fifth cup of coffee. Not surprising really, she probably needs it after her night of slutty sex with another man she barely knows. "Where are you going?"

Santana's eyes dart towards Brittany. "We've got lunch plans."

"Sa-"

"No." Santana cuts Brittany off and grips her bicep. "We've got to go."

Brittany smiles at Maria apologetically and leans in to kiss her cheek, before heading off towards the hall to get their coats. Santana knows this is Brittany's attempt at trying to get her and her mom to talk, and she kind of hates her for it – especially because Maria's now scooted across a seat and is patting Santana's forearm in what she supposes is supposed to feel like a motherly gesture.

"Mija, I haven't seen you in a while. You should come round more often."

Santana clenches her jaw, ignoring the bile rising in her throat at her mother's touch. "You saw me at my wedding."

"I mean outside of events, Tana."

There it is again - that _fucking _nickname. "I told you not to call me that, Maria."

"I am your mother, mija. I'll call you whatever I see fit. And you will _not_ call me Maria. I'm your mami."

She doesn't know whether it's the slightly aggressive tone her mother's using, the continuous patting on her arm, the fact that Maria's just called herself a _mother_, or a combination of the three – but she yanks her arm out and clenches her fists tightly, seeing red flash in front of her eyes. "Then why don't you fucking act like one."

Maria jerks her head back, like Santana's word physically slapped her. Her dull brown are glossy with tears, but Santana finds it hard to feel bad for a woman that told her time and time again that she's a piece of shit and it's a sin for her _kind_ to exist. Even to this day, Santana doesn't know whether that refers to the extra appendage she has, or that she's gay. Truthfully, though, she doesn't care enough to ask – Maria's never been a mother to her.

"It's Christmas. Be a friendly female for once." Maria demands, crossing one leg over the other and shrugging like she doesn't care how she's acting, that's probably because she doesn't. "Then again, it's quite a lot for you to be a woman."

There are so many things Santana wants to say to her mother; most of them containing words that even _she's_ surprised are in her vocabulary since she knows that was definitely a penis dig. But then she takes in a deep breath and really takes in a good look at her mother, and looks down to the ground. The air spikes and she knows Brittany's just walked in on the comment, and suddenly something sparks inside of her, and she has the confidence to say what she's always wanted too.

"There are so many things I could say to you right now, Maria. Like how you're a cheap, useless slut and you live off benefits whilst fucking any guy that's drunk or naïve enough to sleep with you. But, in all honesty, I feel _sorry _for you."

Santana pauses, trying to find the right words to voice her opinion whilst her mother's face falls from the smirk and she sinks back into the chair – which only spurs Santana on more. The spark igniting into a verbal flame which she hurls out like word vomit;

"Antonio doesn't speak to you anymore. Dad was wise enough to get his ass out of this shit hole before you could do him anymore damage. You insult me – the last living relative that doesn't ignore your existence – every damn time we see each other," She uses her hands for emphasis and sees the small, proud smile Brittany gives her which makes her stomach flip. "And the only thing you have that's consistent in your life, is the thrill of one night stands that within a year, is going to disappear - just like the ability to cover up your thousands of wrinkles with the make-up you shovel onto your face every damn morning. Don't for a second think that _he,_" Santana points towards the front of the house, where she assumes that douche from earlier is, "Is going to stick around. Because we both know as soon as you start your knitting and settle down for an episode of Father Knows Best, he'll be out the door faster than you can say Robert Young."

Santana takes in a long, deep breath and steps towards Brittany, taking the bag in her hand and her coat with the other. "It's pathetic, _mother._" She moves forward, throwing the bag containing that damn vase she bought and turns away again. "So Merry fucking Christmas, because that's the last time you'll ever hear that from me."

Just as she reaches the door, with Brittany in toe, the dark haired guy steps out the living room, noodle hanging out the side of his grinning mouth and carton in hand. "You off already?" He mumbles through a mouthful.

Santana scoffs at him and grabs his shoulder, leaning in until her lips are hovering over his ear. "She's fifty seven."

There's a huge amount of satisfaction that surges through her, when she pulls back and sees him drop the cartoon, noodles spilling all over the floor with his mouth open so wide at least four tennis balls could fit in there. With a final smirk at her mother, she grabs Brittany's hand and tugs her out the house, back into the streets of New York City.

* * *

><p>"Two orders of the cheeseburger and fries, a caramel milkshake for Brittany and a vanilla for me." Santana hands back over the menus to the old, greying waitress and smiles. "Thanks."<p>

They're sitting in a booth in the far corner, down on 14th Street after a silent walk from Maria's house. It's not exactly very Christmas-y, but Brittany was hungry and insisted on getting a cheeseburger when they were heading towards the Lopez household, and so instead of asking again, they just headed there.

"I'm sorry." Brittany whispers, sliding her fingers through Santana's.

"You have no need to be sorry," Santana sighs and rubs her thumb over the back of Brittany's knuckles. "It was going to happen at some point."

Admittedly, it _would _have happened at some point, and in some ways, Santana see why she could be pissed at Brittany and how the whole meeting potentially could've ruined her Christmas, but she isn't pissed. She _can't _be pissed. It's not like she's physically incapable, because, yeah, Santana has been angry with Brittany in that past – but it's something near to being incapable. Like her emotions take over and any trace of anger dissolves, possibly like Santana's the flame and Brittany's the water.

Then again, that's not just applicable to their relationship. In high school, several times, Brittany had to hold Santana back, grasp her biceps and make sure she didn't kick Azimio's ass for making _another_ homophobic comment. Several times, Brittany had to wrap her weirdly strong arms around Santana's waist, lean in close to her ear, so that her lips were ghosting over the shell and whisper _calm down._

Of course, those two little words, as long as they only came from Brittany, would immediately send a wave of calm crashing down on Santana's body. And what bothered, and still bothers Santana to this day, is that if she _wanted _to be pissed with Brittany for holding her back, her brain just releases a repeat of those words and she's calm again. Brittany's always been like that with Santana, she's been the calmer half of the friendship, the more rational, cheerier half.

The better half.

So that kind of explains why Santana's now sitting here, smiling goofily at her best friend from across the table – whilst the waitress stands next to them, holding something above their heads.

"Uh," Brittany retracts her hand and blushes as she ducks her head, removing all eye contact from Santana. Just before she ducked though, Santana could've sworn she saw a sparkle behind the blonde's bright blue eyes. She frowns, completely dumbfounded, what the hell is going on?

But then she looks up. "Oh."

"Come on; give your girl a kiss." The waitress grins, one hand dangling a single piece of mistletoe between them, and the other toying with the waistband of her apron. "It's Christmas after all."

Santana giggles, and Brittany whips her head up with an incredulous expression – her eyes wide and surprised. There's a twinkle in her eye though, and Santana's stomach flips. God, the things her best friend does to her.

The older woman smiles brightly. "It's Mistletoe hour, and you two are the lucky winners."

Santana slyly grins, eyes darting to Brittany. "And what do we win?"

"You mean apart from kissing this beautiful lady here?" The waitress gestures to Brittany, whose ears and cheeks tinge dark pink. She then continues. "You win two free meals."

The situation should probably feel incredibly awkward, but she doesn't pay much attention to it and instead focuses on Brittany's reaction. The blonde is worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, nervously – but there's still that little something etching its way onto her face. Whatever Santana does next, will either make her Christmas (due to the free meal, obviously), or ruin it. Before she can over think it, because she knows she will, she smirks. Fuck it. It _is_ Christmas after all.

"Well?" Santana grins at Brittany with dark eyes. She doesn't need a mirror to know just how she looks right now, it's how she used to get girlfriends pre-Sophie. "What do you think, Britt?"

Brittany looks up, smiling softly as she twiddles one thumb around the other, above the table. She then glances towards the waitress. "For two free meals?"

The waitress nods, and immediately, the soft smile spreads into a wide grin, revealing Brittany's brilliantly white teeth. "If it's for Christmas…"

Santana doesn't let Brittany continues her sentence, she's already taken it as an acceptance. Her body's leaning across the small width of the table, whilst her hand is sliding up Brittany's arm, curling around the nape of her neck and guiding their mouths together. She pauses as soon as their lips are a centimetre away from each other, and takes in a deep breath, settling her adrenaline fuelled nerves.

Carefully, and when she's restarted her brain and gained a tad more confidence, Santana leans in a brushes her mouth against Brittany's, almost as if they don't touch at all. She pulls back again, and looks into certain, blue eyes. "Was that okay?" She whispers against Brittany's lips, blushing furiously.

"Darling's, that was only worth one meal." Santana hears coming from beside them. Without pulling back, her eyes flicker to the side where the waitress is still standing, holding the mistletoe above with a huge, sappy grin pasted on her face, shaking the branch gently.

When she turns back, Brittany's eyes bore into her, and for a moment she thinks she can actually feel herself getting lost into those blue oceans, swimmingly carelessly in the pool of those beautiful eyes. She barely has enough time to let her eyes flutter closed before Brittany's kissing her again, taking Santana's bottom lip between her own and sucks gently. Her heart's pounding steadily in her chest, her mind swimming with the flavour of her best friend as Brittany's tongue does a quick, yet incredibly soft sweep with her tongue along Santana's bottom lip.

By the time Brittany pulls away, Santana's still lingering in the middle of the table; eyes still shut and mind still swarming with inappropriate thoughts of Brittany. She almost forgets that they're in a diner, on Christmas day, with her practically cheating on her wife and that it's only for two free meals.

"Not so sure that was worth two free meals." Brittany winks, the bottom of the mistletoe spinning between her thumb and forefinger.

Santana giggles and reaches across to play with the top of the mistletoe. "Shut up, you."

Because no. That definitely wasn't worth two free meals. It was worth a hell of a lot more.

* * *

><p>Santana brings the buzzing phone to her ear. "Hi, this is Brittany's phone."<p>

_"Oh, hi. Is Brittany there?"_

Santana narrows her eyes, and plays with the empty milkshake glass. About thirty seconds ago, Brittany nicked one of Santana's fries and skipped off to the toilet with another wink. There's been a little tension since their mistletoe kiss, and she wants to bring it up – but she doesn't know how. All they've been doing since the kiss is flirting shamelessly, brushing each other's arms like they're both single and that everything's _a-o-fucking-kay_between them – despite the ring on Santana's finger.

"Not at the moment. Who's calling?"

_"It's Mike."_

Her jaw clenches and she swallows against the venom trickling down her throat. "It's Santana."

_"Hey, Santana! It's Mike Chang here!"_

Damn. She forgot how nice of a guy he is. "Hey, Mike." She replies, feeling the need to yell at this innocent man drain away as Brittany comes back into view, exiting the toilet.

_"How's it going? How's Sophie?"_

Brittany slides back into the seat, and looks at her quizzically. When the question finally processes Santana frowns. She hasn't actually heard from Sophie since she left for her work thing.

"Yeah, Sophie's good." Santana lies anyway, avoiding Brittany's blue eyes as she feels the atmosphere sink. _Fuck._

_"Good, good. Can you tell Brittany to give me a call?"_

Santana opens her mouth to make a sarcastic comment about why he can't just talk to her at work, but Brittany reaches over and snatches the phone from Santana, not meeting the expectant brown eyes as she brings it to her ear. Santana's hands are still up by her ear, where the phone was cradled about two seconds ago, hovering uselessly as she feels something she can only make out to be, regret?

"Hey, Mike. It's Britt." Santana hears her say, and she thinks there's a definite sadness lacing her voice. Her fingers clench around the milkshake glass as she keeps one ear on Brittany's conversation and her eyes locked on the cars passing the diner just outside the window. The back of her throat is burning with the taste of acidic jealousy and she squeezes her eyes shut against it.

"Aw, Mike, you're so sweet."

Santana can imagine the cute, fluffy shit that's coming out of Mike's mouth and she bites down, catching her cheek in the process. If it wasn't for the intense anger she's focusing on supressing, she'd probably be whimpering at the shooting pain forming on the inside of her mouth.

"Mike, stop it." Brittany says flirtatiously, twirling a lock of blonde hair between her fingers.

Not wanting to hear anymore, Santana grimaces and jerks up from the table, catching her knee in the process on the lip of it. Damn, anger really _does_ lead to violence. Without looking back, she stalks over to the waitress with her upper lip half snarled, and slaps down a few dollars on the table as a tip – since half-way over to the cashier, she remembered they had a free meal. _Shit._ Not knowing what else to do, since the waitress took the tip with a scared smile, Santana heads back to the booth, hands shoved deep into her jean pockets.

"You mean now? Um, I'm actually out at the moment." Santana can feel blue eyes studying her facial features as she sits back down, scooting as far away from Brittany as she can without moving to another table. She looks out the window with no interest at all for whatever's going on outside. "I'm at the diner down on 14th street."

There's a police man chasing down a teenager, just in front of the diner, and a few spectators moving out the way to watch the chase – but her eyes are fuzzy and she can't focus on it. All she can think about is watching Brittany walk down the same road, Mike holding her hand and giggling together before he brings her in for a kiss. All the things Santana wants to … no - all the things Santana doesn't want to see her best friend do._Obviously._

"You want to join us?" Brittany's voice goes soft and she looks up to stare at Santana. "Well as long as that's okay with Santana."

_That's_ what does it, and before she can gain control of her legs, they're leading her out of the diner and down the street. It's far too late to go back and explain to Brittany why the hell she just walked out, and in some ways that's a good thing – because only God knows what she'd say.

Within what feels like a minute, she's at her door, digging out the key and shoving it forcefully into the lock, twisting the door open and kicking it shut with the heel of her Converse as she steps inside. She yanks off her coat, throws it somewhere in the room and practically leaps over the back of the sofa to lie on it, arms covering her face.

Merry _fucking_ Christmas.

* * *

><p><strong>I know it's a shitty chapter! I apologise!<strong>

**However I have some big plans for the next few chapters, tee hee *wink wink* and I thank you if you take your time to review! If not then I appreciate you taking your time to read this anyway!**

**Much love!**


	9. chapter nine

**Right, well, I know you may be thinking this is a short chapter, and I do apologise but I thought I'd give you a little something and leave you with one of my classic endings.**

**But don't scroll down to see the ending, you'll ruin it!**

**Anyways, I apologize for the wait, college has been really hectic, my car's been fucking up and I hurt myself and just **_**yeah**_**, been a pretty hard week.**

**So here it is, and the good news is because it's short you'll be getting another update sooner than you might think!**

**Thank you for all your reviews/alerts etc. I love hearing your guys feedback!**

**Hope you enjoy! Love you all!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Nine]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>6k

* * *

><p>The apartment is cold and empty, and Santana's still lying on the sofa with her arm thrown over her head. She has absolutely no idea what she's going to say when Brittany walks in. What the hell is she supposed to say? The lock on the door clicks. Well, she's about to find out.<p>

"Santana?"

Santana doesn't answer Brittany's call; instead buries her nose in further to the crook of her elbow, hoping to feign being asleep, or possibly dead – that's how much she doesn't want to explain her actions. Her eyes are cracked open slightly at the corner, so she can see Brittany gliding across the apartment, placing her keys and jacket down so domestically. Santana inwardly groans - sometimes she wishes she hadn't let Brittany stay here for Christmas – it seems so normal to live in the same apartment as the blonde. And not in the _just roommates_ way, either.

There's a dip beside her right hip, and seconds later cool fingers wrap around her wrist, the one covering her face. "San," Brittany whispers, and Santana can tell just how close the blonde is by the hot breath hitting her cheek, "San."

Grudgingly, she allows the arm to be taken away, and seconds later she's staring up at her best friend who's now moved back so there's a reasonable distance between them. Santana brings her arms down beside her bother, propping herself up onto her elbows and ducks her chin to her chest, eyes focusing on the sparkling lights decorating the Christmas tree at the end of the sofa.

Brittany flashes a small smile, "Hi," she says quietly, her eyes searching Santana's.

Santana pauses, curious to why Brittany's not angry or asking questions. "Hi," she repeats, slowly.

"Are you alright?" Brittany shuffles further into the sofa, pushing Santana's left side into the back of it. Considering she walked out on Brittany, whilst Brittany was in mid-conversation, and stormed off like she was a teenager again, actively rebelling against something she didn't like – this is a pretty odd reaction to have. Shouldn't Brittany be like shouting, screaming and demanding answers?

"Aren't you mad?" Santana ignores Brittany's question. She's too curious. "I stormed out."

Brittany shrugs. "I know," she reaches over and brushes a lock of Santana's hair behind her ear. "But I'm not mad."

Santana drops back to the sofa, until her head hits the cushions. Her palms come up to her face and the heels of them dig into her eyes, trying to rub out the frustration. In some ways she _wants _Brittany to be mad at her; she _wants _Brittany to demand answers – even if she doesn't have a clue what she'd respond.

"Why?" Santana spits out, a little sharper than intended. "Why aren't you mad?"

"Why should I be?"

Santana snorts and shakes her head. The way Brittany's being so damn non-chalant about her reaction is really starting to bug her. If it were reversed, she'd be questioning left, right and centre. She can feel the eyes looking at her carefully and tries not to focus on how nervous it's making her as she pushes her palms further into her face, in attempt to stop the shaking. Pale fingers trace their way down the back of her hand, down to her wrist and then down an invisible line on her forearm – she guesses it's supposed to be comforting or whatever, but it's not, the touch is just like a burning hot pan. Except it's a comfortable sensation. It's complicated.

"Is there a reason?" Brittany continues, pausing as she restarts tracing over the invisible line in a loop, "That I should be mad?" Her voice is so calm and innocent that it actually spurs a shot of anger that pulses through Santana's body.

"Yes!" Santana yells and lurches forward, swinging her legs off the edge and pushing Brittany to the far end of the sofa. Within seconds she's up, forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of her nose whilst the other hand is cocked on her hip. "Doesn't it bother you that I just walked out?" Her voice is unnecessarily loud, but she can't bring herself to lessen the volume - probably because of the anger pulsing through her veins.

Brittany crosses her arms. "Well I don't know why you did it, so…"

"So, what?" Santana spins around, one hand hovering in mid-air. "If you don't know something you just don't ask?"

"I didn't think you'd want to talk to about it," Brittany says meekly. "In case it'd piss you off."

Santana knows that _technically_, Brittany does actually have a reasonable point. Brittany knows her, better than she knows herself, and usually if something like that'd happened – she wouldn't want to talk about it. God knows Brittany's asked enough times throughout their friendship, and has just been answered with a sharp tongue and violent words.

So Santana thinks that maybe she's being unreasonable, and tries to force herself to calm down by closing her eyes. "Just… Are you not in the tiny bit curious?"

Brittany's eyes dart to the floor, and Santana opens her eyes just in time to see her best friend's about two seconds away from crying. "Of course I am."

"Then ask!" Her voice is loud again. "Just ask me why I walked out!"

"I can't."

"Why?"

Brittany ducks her head. "I just can't, okay?"

"Bullshit." Santana says, firmly, throwing her hands down and moving next to Brittany - who she's now towering over. "You can ask me you just don't want too, it's like you're-"

Blue eyes snap up. "Like I'm what? Scared?"

Santana gulps and sees the knowing glint in her best friend's eyes. "Yeah," she manages to let out through a shaky nod.

"Well you would know all about that, wouldn't you?" It's not a question, it's more like a snarky comment that just seems to reek sarcasm, and it takes Santana aback. She's not used to seeing Brittany like this, hell she's not used to seeing Brittany with anything but a grin on her face and rainbows and unicorns flying above her head. So sassy, snappy Brittany comes as a bit of a shock.

"What?" Santana asks, already knowing the answer but needing clarification.

It seems that there's something Brittany wants to say, like _really_ wants to say. Santana's known Brittany well enough to know that when Brittany narrows her eyes, clenches her jaw twice and then swallows audibly – that she's holding something in. And usually that something isn't good.

"Nothing," Brittany lets out in a defeated tone, obviously opting out of what she wanted to say. She shakes her head before rising from the sofa and heading towards the kitchen. At the doorway, she pauses and turns her head so Santana can see her profile. "I'm getting a drink, want anything?"

Santana scrunches her brows together, and stares incredulously at her best friend. She can't actually believe that Brittany's going to leave it like that, that Brittany assumes that saying 'nothing' will instantly switch everything back and that she'll go back to normal. But that's how their friendships always worked, that's they've always done when things have got tough – they just passed it and never looked back. Even though she doesn't want too, she knows that this fight, or argument, or whatever the hell it is, is ultimately going to be pointless.

So she exhales heavily, throws herself down on the sofa and says; "No, I'm good."

And then Brittany disappears out the door.

* * *

><p>It's around two hours later, when Brittany and Santana are sitting down on the sofa, both at one end and munching on the variety of different snacks they have between them. Neither wanted to cook Christmas dinner, and truthfully, Santana never really liked turkey and Brittany never liked vegetables, so there wasn't really any point in spending hours upon hours slaving over an oven full of food neither were going to enjoy all that much. They hadn't talked about Santana's sudden walk out, and for the first ten minutes there had been a little tension – but as always, they'd pushed it aside and started acting like teenagers, munching on nacho's and watching Charlie Brown's Christmas Tales on repeat.<p>

Santana's munching away on a chip when she stops and turns to Brittany, laughing animatedly at something on the TV. She can't fight the grin that crawls across her face and she finds herself tilting her head to the side. Those sparkling blue eyes, that creamy skin, that crease in her eyebrows and those perfect pink lips… _Damn,_ Brittany really is drop dead gorgeous.

"San?"

Santana shakes herself out of her 'Brittany daze' and looks at her best friend with confused, wide eyes. "Sorry?"

"Do I have something on my face?" Brittany flashes a smile and raises an eyebrow.

Santana pauses and squints. Instead of admitting that she was just marvelling at Brittany's perfect and coming out with something cheesy in response like _'yeah, you've got beautiful all over it'_ - she's forced to think on her feet. "Uh, sure."

Brittany pinches her lips up at one side and crosses her eyes down, as if she's trying to search her own face for the imaginary smudge. "Where?" She asks, rubbing the back of her hand on her cheeks, forehead and then nose, kind of like a confused dog that runs around chasing it's tail. The words _fucking_ and _adorable_ come into mind as Santana smiles goofily at her best friend, who's scrunching her face up in confusion and swiping at a perfectly clean face.

Just to back up her lie, Santana leans across the food, making sure not to lean into the open cheese dip and brings her hand up to her best friend's face. Before she even gets to touch that pale, glowing skin, she flinches at the zap that shoots through her fingertips and fizzles up her arm. Her eyes flicker up towards Brittany who's features at expressionless, but her eyes are shouting volumes. Santana gulps audibly. Apparently she wasn't the only one to feel the spark.

It's like some cliché in a romantic movie, where they both slowly lift their heads and look deeply into each other's eyes. They both simultaneously become aware of how close their faces are, how their breaths are twisting together and how they're both caught in some trance that neither can or want to pull out of – even if there's so many factors why they _should_ at least try.

There had been many times during Santana's life where she knew she shouldn't be doing things. Like the time her and Brittany were invited to Cathy Johnson's house party. Maria had obviously said no, and that Santana should stay in her room for the entire night, but being Santana, and having the knowledge it would piss her mother off even more, she text Brittany and within half an hour she was sneaking out, along with two bottles of her mom's vodka. Or even the time when she and Brittany told Mrs. Pierce they would be down at Chuck E. Cheese, when really they were smoking a cheeky blunt down the alley two streets away. Whenever she did something wrong, or was doing something wrong – she always had this tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach, guilt and future regret, that seemed to crawl its way up her throat until she stopped.

And despite knowing that this right here is definitely supposed to be one of _those_ moments, she's feeling no guilt, no pangs strumming at her stomach like a guitar string, nothing. Sure, she could put it down to the fact that they've already been in this position twice, within the span of two weeks at that, but something's telling her it's not that.

"What are we doing?" Brittany breathes, her eyes darting between each of Santana's, trying to search for an answer that she doesn't even know.

Santana gulps, leans her hand into Brittany's face and cups her cheek. Just enjoying the way her best friend leans into the touch and how her chest is rapidly increasingly it's breathing motions. "I don't know." She answers honestly, yet she's showing no signs of pulling away.

"It's just Christmas," Brittany lets out, breathlessly. "We're both alone, and it's getting the better of us."

Santana nods in agreement, her eyes flickering down to Brittany's lips as her heart ten folds its beat. "Definitely," she says, her face inching closer in as a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Just what Christmas does?"

Brittany hums in approval, licking her lips and alternating her eyesight from Santana's lips to her eyes. Santana's so close that she can _feel_ as the air dampens from the moisture and she has to force back the moan that's preparing to roll off her tongue.

"Yeah, we're just confused due to unresolved Christmas feelings." Brittany murmurs, still not bringing their lips together, even when their noses are brushing lightly against one another.

Santana grins, but doesn't break the moment. "Unresolved Christmas feelings?" She smirks, eyes filled with laughter. "Is that even possible?"

"Well," Brittany lets out, exhaling deeply and sending her mind-swimmingly sweet breath across Santana's lips. "Anything's possible if you want it to be."

Surprisingly, it doesn't shock Santana to hear the underlying meaning behind Brittany's words. She knows anything's possible, mostly because when she's with Brittany – that's just how she feels, like she can do anything.

"Maybe we should…" Brittany trails off, her eyes darting down to Santana's lips.

Santana narrows her eyes and sweeps her tongue along her bottom lip. "Maybe we should what?"

Brittany gulps audibly, and hesitates as the clogs start turning in her mind. Santana doesn't need to ask to recognise Brittany thinking when she sees it - the small crease in between light eyebrows, the way a perfect set of teeth come out to take a set of perfect, pink lips between them as blue eyes cloud over with millions of thoughts – that's what tells Santana. And then just like that, the decision clicks inside Brittany's brain and she clears her throat, before pulling away from their trance.

Disappointment surges through Santana's body, and she feels it fizzle at the end of her fingertips as it battles against her deepest urges. Her head's shouting at her not to do what she's thinking, but every other part of her is moving her forward, following Brittany's retreating body as the urge takes over. She's clearly losing the battle for dominance over her urges, and knowing it's like her trying to hold up a falling tree, it's pointless. So instead of fighting the inevitable, Santana gives in.

She leans in, one hand sliding up to cup Brittany's cheek as her lips moving forward to catch perfect pink lips between her own. As soon as the connection is made, Brittany stills, shocked by the movement and Santana almost pulls back, fearing that she's gone too far. But as always, Brittany surprises her and she instantly smiles into the kiss, feeling Brittany's lips move around her own. This kiss, _damn_, it's so good that Santana has to reboot her brain to make sure it's actually happening, and when she opens her eyes to see if it's all just a wonderful dream – she finds Brittany's face in close proximity of her own, eyes shut and lips still moving against her own. Hell, that's enough to convince Santana – so she returns to the matter at hand.

She remembers Brittany's kisses too well. That night, the one before her wedding, she remembers every single kiss. The initial exploration; the frantic, almost manic kisses of need and lust, mixed with searching and questioning ones that just made Santana's heart want to jump out her chest. But then she smiles, remembering what those manic kisses had transformed into. The last, long, slow, almost painfully luxurious kisses that almost made Santana want to faint or die from happiness. Those kisses… The ones that left her aching for more. For more of Brittany's touch, for more of Brittany's smell and taste. _Damn,_ just for more of Brittany.

Those ones that right now, she's thinking about, and better yet, the same ones she's receiving.

Santana pulls back and continues to smile at the memories flashing behind her eyelids. She blinks, breathing in deeply and gulps before opening her eyes to reveal the blonde, still there, inches away, looking back at her with big, beautiful, blue eyes. Brittany's lips are still open, her breath still on Santana's lips. In some ways, Santana can't believe she's just kissed her best friend, whilst she's married. In some ways, she can't believe that that kiss just practically blew her mind, and every other kiss straight out the water.

She doesn't know what possesses her, but when they break apart, she leans in, meeting Brittany's lips again, and again, allowing their lips only the smallest of touches because they just feel so damn good. It's like she's _still _trying to convince herself that this is _actually_ happening – even though she knows it is. Brittany reaches her hand out, cupping Santana's cheek and rubs her thumb gently over a tanned cheek whilst their lips keep brushing against each other softly. She leans forward and suddenly Brittany's legs are either side of her hips as she settles on top of her best friend – her whole body pressing against Brittany's, where it clicks together like a damn puzzle piece.

"Uh, San," Brittany murmurs into Santana's lips. Santana breaks away, looking quizzically at her best friend with what she knows is a flushed expression. "You're in the dip."

Brittany giggles and Santana groans and shuffles, feeling something jut into her stomach. She looks down quickly, seeing the plastic container with cheese tipping dangerously, threatening to spill onto the sofa with all its cheesy goodness. _Fitting_, she thinks.

"Shit." Santana whispers, panting heavily as she pushes off Brittany, removing herself from between her best friend's legs and hastily pushes the packet of nacho's and tub of cheese dip off the sofa – with no regard for where they fall, or for the fact that she's _definitely _going to have to clean that shit off the floor.

Santana looks back down at Brittany, still in the same position with her legs spread open and eyes wide and sparkling. It almost takes Santana's breath away as she smiles down at her best friend, and then leans back in – arching her body into Brittany's to feel them click once more. Her palms press into the spaces beside Brittany's head as their faces inches closer together, and she holds back the moan as the heavenly scent of her best friend invades her lungs once more.

"That was some good cheese dip." She whispers, feigning sadness and pinching her lips together mockingly.

Brittany bites her lips through a smile and shrugs. "You can buy some more."

Unblinking, and grinning, they both lean forward again, their lips meeting once more in another, short, simple kiss. Santana slides her hand down Brittany's body, grazing over the fabric until she takes purchase at the other woman's hip, where her thumb immediately starts to rub invisible circles over the protruding hipbone. She feels Brittany's grip tighten on the nape of her neck, and it only enhances the buzzing underneath her fingertips as she skims up and down Brittany's sides. Quickly, she breaks apart and breathes in deeply, letting all her inhibitions go as she leans back in, instantly reconnecting their lips and flicks her tongue against Brittany's lips again, silently requesting entrance. For a second, her whole body freezes. _Shit_, did she go too far?

But then she hears a sudden intake of breath, and a moan as Brittany's lips part, greeting Santana's awaiting tongue. _Fuck,_ Brittany _still_ tastes incredible. Better than Santana remembers, like something in between the sweetness of Dairy Queen's fresh strawberry ice-cream and the subtle tang of a freshly brewed coffee. Brittany's lips are still exactly as soft as they were the first time, which seems like years ago right now, but it's like an enhanced moment, which makes everything seem so much better than the mere memories. Their tongues meet hesitantly, gently stroking and massaging each other with intense care, and as a wash of Brittany's unbelievably sweet breath glides into Santana's mouth – she almost collapses.

Santana's not sure how long they've been kissing for, but the touches are becoming harder, like both of them were gaining more confidence as hands cup cheeks, fingers skim underneath tops, grazing ribs and moans start erupting from left, right and centre.. She needs more than a kiss, she can feel it burning underneath her palms, and growing against her boxers, but she doesn't want to give in.

"San," Brittany says, breathlessly against Santana's lips, as Santana parts and presses gentle kisses down her cheek, jawline and then onto her neck. "Fuck."

Santana can hear the hesitation and indecision, and the thudding underneath her own chest just confirms what she thought – that Brittany's just as unsure as she is. So with no further ado, and with the equivalent of liquid courage, but the liquid being Brittany, she shuffles until one of Brittany's thighs are parting her legs, and moves her hand from its place on the blondes ribs down to the waistband of her leggings.

"Britt," her panting has increased against the side of Brittany's neck, and she can feel the sheer desire hovering in the air around them, thickening it and making it harder to breathe – like it isn't already hard to breathe. "I…" She tries to finish her sentence but she can't, one of them, she's not sure who, has started to rock and Brittany's thigh is now brushing up and down the bulge growing in her pants.

Slowly, but surely, Santana rolls her hips to make her erection press firmly against Brittany's thigh, her tongue stroking in time to each of her hip movements. This time, Santana knows the moan comes from Brittany because she pulls back just in time, bringing one hand up to push a lock of hair behind the blonde's ear as her thigh pushes up to meet heated fabric – earning that heavenly moan. Their eyes lock, and Santana inhales sharply as she catches the state of her best friend beneath her. Brittany's hair is tousled, her eyes dark and hooded and there's a pink tint to her creamy cheeks.

Fingers glide across Santana's ribs, and then down to the waistband at her hips, and this time, Santana doesn't hesitate as she leans back in to crush her lips back to Brittany's. Delicately, she traces her fingers down the lines of muscles in Brittany's neck, over her collarbones, pausing to brush at the valley of Brittany's breasts and then moving upwards again. Once oxygen becomes a necessity, Santana begins her assault down Brittany's neck, marvelling at the sheer silkiness of the skin, and sucking lightly at the pulse point throbbing beneath her lips.

"San, I need…" Brittany's voice is an octave lower than it was a few minutes ago, and a jolt of electricity shoots around Santana's body until it bottoms out in the deep pits of her stomach. The arousal within in her ten folds and she grunts, taking an earlobe between her teeth.

About two seconds later, she feels Brittany's slender fingers slide further around her waist, one finger dipping into the waistband until she comes to the buttons. Santana's muscles twitch as their skin come in contact with each other, the blonde brushing underneath her top as she fumbles undoes the buttons and then the zip at a glacial pace. The sound seems to echo around the room, and as it disappears, Santana's suddenly incredibly aware of how loud Brittany's heart is pounding, how loud her own heart is pounding, and how their ragged breaths are coming out in matched pants.

"Hmmm," Santana hums and runs her tongue up the expanse of Brittany's neck whilst the blonde's hand reaches into her jeans and rubs her ever-hardening member through the fabric of her boxers. _Damn,_ if anyone had said a year ago this would be happening, Santana would've laughed in their faces and used the same old 'we're just friends' thing.

It seems the need to speak has long gone, because Santana moves her hands from the waistband of Brittany's leggings, up to Brittany's chest where she creates feathery lines, pausing momentarily to rub her thumb over nipples that are so hard she can feel them through the fabric. _Holy fuck._ The knot in her stomach tightens considerably so, and it feels like every nerve inside her body is sparking and sizzling with anticipation as Brittany's hand, cupping her hardened member, moves in slow but equally arousing circles.

She leans up, propping herself on her forearms as she looks deeply into Brittany's eyes, trying not to give into the urge to grab the blondes hands and shove it into her boxers. It's like there's a silent conversation going on, well, Santana thinks that anyway, because she leans in, pressing her lips to Brittany's softly in a silent acceptance as the hand rubbing her, flicks at the waistband of her boxers. Slowly, Brittany slides her hand inside, twisting her arm at what looks like an awkward angle, and inhales sharply as their heated skin touches each other.

"Jesus," Brittany breathes into Santana's lips. A wave of smugness surges through Santana, she doesn't need Brittany to say the words to know she's impressed by her size. "You're so big." Okay, hearing the words just made her double in size.

Santana jerks into Brittany, half-thrusting her cock into the waiting hand and squeezes her eyes shut. Hearing Brittany say shit like that is like music to her ears. She's pretty sure in about two seconds she's going to come, since Brittany's fingers feel like delicate feathers moving up and down her shaft at a teasingly slow pace, lingering at the sensitive head.

"_Fuck,"_ Santana hisses, dropping her head to Brittany's shoulders, gently rolling her hips into every stroke.

Lips press against the side of her neck, and the combination of both literally makes her bite her lip with anticipation. The impending release is inevitable, but she needs to prolong it. It feels like she's bigger than she's ever been, seeing as her jeans seem to be shrinking and the boxers, that usually confines and hide her bulge, are squeezing against her.

Knowing she's probably not going to last that much longer, she lifts her head again, pressing their foreheads together as her she slides up palm up Brittany's top, lifting it slightly and relishing in the feel of toned abs twitching underneath her touch. The pure silkiness of her skin makes an embarrassingly loud moan come out, and she closes her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that now she's pretty embarrassed.

But then Brittany brings her other hand up to cup Santana's neck, whilst the one working on her member quickens it's pace, gripping slightly harder and moving up and down, her thumb flicking the head of Santana's cock with each stroke. Santana opens her eyes slowly, panting heavily and trying to ignore the way her head is spinning as she presses their lips back together in a sloppy kiss, neither caring for the lack of precision and accuracy they'd been using before.

When they part, Santana gulps, feeling strangely nervous as her the hand palming Brittany's stomach slides down, dipping underneath the blondes leggings and pressing onto the damp fabric of her panties. Santana's been with her fair share of girls, not in the slutty way, but enough to say that she's never felt someone be so _ready_ for her. And the fact that it's Brittany just makes her hips rock harder into her hand.

"Can I…" Santana groans, lightly tracing her ring and index finger up the centre of Brittany's, earning an insatiable moan.

Brittany bites on her bottom lip, her eyes squeezing shut as her strokes increase in pace, and she twists the palm of her hand over the tip of Santana's dick and strokes it in the opposite direction, alternating in the tightness of her grip. "Please," her voice comes out wispy and breathless like she can't contain how she's feeling, and Santana only knows that too well as she strokes her fingers up and down Brittany's covered folds, applying just the right amount of pressure. "Please, do it."

Santana feels like her whole body is on fire, like she's burning up and it's spreading across every inch of her skin. Her eyes snap open, and she gazes deeply into Brittany's eyes, which are usually so bright but are now hooded and darker than ever before. A jolt of satisfaction spirals through her and feeling a hell of a less nervous than she was, she dips her fingertips beneath the damp panties, and trails her fingers through slick folds, groaning at the feel of Brittany's wetness coating her skin.

Gently, she strokes her fingers in a circle around Brittany's entrance, and then back up and down, pressing down slightly on her swollen clit. Brittany gasps, and brings their lips back together, sucking Santana's bottom lip between her own and nibbling gently. It feels like the room's too hot, and the familiar pleasure coils in to pit of Santana's stomach as she swipes her tongue across Brittany's lips, tasting herself and then pulling away to look deep into dark blue eyes.

After asking for silent permission, Santana slowly slides her fingers into Brittany, twisting slightly and curling just at the right spot until Brittany arches into her body and beings to grinds her hips. A thin layer of sweat is forming on her forehead as she leans down to kiss Brittany's neck, and she tentatively pumps her fingers, making sure to keep with the same twists and curls that created such a magnificent reaction.

"_Oh…"_ Brittany whimpers with desire, and Santana can feel her fingers push in until their knuckle deep as the blonde parts her legs further. _"Jesus Christ."_

Santana rocks her hips in time to Brittany's, pushing into the pale hand stroking her throbbing cock with such practiced rhythm. Brittany hisses against her neck as Santana brings her thumb up to circle her clit, flicking carefully and then pushing down. Brown eyes go wide when the heat almost become too much and she feels herself slowly unravelling, ready to shoot.

"I'm gonna…" Santana grunts and Brittany's hand moves faster and faster, building up the climax until her eyes roll back into her head and it feels like the world is spinning. With two slow strokes, Santana looks deep into Brittany's eyes and jerks forward, feeling her load shoot shamelessly from her like bullets, into the fabric of her jeans. Her hips thrust forward, focused on making sure every last drop comes out and wanting Brittany to come with her, she curls her fingers and sees blue eyes glaze over, sinking into the same pit Santana is.

"San," Brittany moans and her breasts push up into Santana's as her eyes widen comically. "_Hmmph_"

And then it happens.

Brittany's eyebrows scrunch together, her mouth pops open into an 'o' shape and her eyes darken with one last spur of desire as the walls clench around Santana's fingers, sending Brittany into the depths of ecstasy that Santana's currently spurring through. It's like nothing she's seen before. Sure, it's not sex, but the way Brittany's body curls into her, shuddering and the way her face portrays the most mind-blowing orgasm known to man, it feels _so_ much better than sex.

"_Oh my…"_ Brittany whimpers in pleasures as one arm tightens around Santana's neck, pulling their bodies flush together to feel the intensity of their orgasms tying together as their bodies rock over, Brittany's hand still lightly stroking Santana's cock, using the sticky liquid as lubricant and Santana's fingers still thrusting in and out softly, curling to prolong the image of Brittany in pure ecstasy, because she's pretty sure she's never seen anyone look so fucking sexy and beautiful at the same time.

After a few more jerks and jolts, Santana drops her head to Brittany's shoulders, and the legs around her go slack. It's only now she realises how tight they were around her body, and instantly she misses the contact as they completely drop from her. The breaths she's taking seem to even out slowly, and she licks her lips, lightly flicking it against Brittany's throbbing pulse point which only creates another heavenly moan. Brittany moaning is definitely one of the most beautiful sounds she's ever heard, and the urge to lick the pale slope of the blondes neck almost becomes too much.

* * *

><p><strong>Imagine one of those noises in films like DUH DUH DUUUUUUUUUH, and mentally add it in. It's better that way.<strong>

**Anyway, sorry for leaving you hanging on, but please, if you have time, leave me some feedback please! If not, thank you for reading and I hope you keep with it!**

**Mwah!**


	10. chapter ten

**Oh my god! I didn't realise how long I hadn't updated for! I really do apologize, I've just had such a hectic schedule and you know all this stuff – so I'm not gonna make any more excuses.**

**Anyway, thank you so much for all your reviews on the last chapter, you guys really do inspire me! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and it progresses more with the story so it's more kind of a filler chapter – so apologies if you don't like it that much, but hey hoe, you win some, you lose some.**

**So yeah, have fun!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Ten]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>6.6k

* * *

><p>Santana grins as she hears Brittany sigh with pleasure, and leans up to lock eyes with her once more. Carefully, she nudges their noses together and leans in, pressing a long, lingering kiss to her best friend's lips, tasting the salty of their combined sweat and remains of herself on them. She doesn't think she'd ever get used to kissing Brittany, whilst it's amazing, it's almost surreal because it's that <em>damn<em> good. When she feels Brittany's grip around her cock loosen, she groans and then realises her fingers are still inside the blonde.

With a grin, she bites her bottom lip and slowly slides her fingers out, stroking the inside gently one last time to get Brittany to moan, and of course, she does. The last few minutes play on the back of her eyelids like an old school movie theatre and she can almost feel herself getting hard again at the thought.

"So…" Santana smirks, kissing a smiling Brittany one last time before slowly sitting back on her ankles, and kneeling between Brittany's legs whilst her fingers move against each other, allowing them to glide together flawlessly. It's kind of strange, but watching the moisture make them slip against each other is rather arousing.

Brittany blushes, watching Santana watch her glistening fingers move, and brushes the back of her hand against her face, pushing back a few locks of hair. "Yeah, so…"

With her clean fingers, Santana starts to fumble with her jeans, until two pale hands grip around her wrists to stop her. "Uh, San?" Brittany starts, her vision darting between brown eyes and Santana's crotch. "You might wanna go change," she chuckles and leans back again, bending her knees until Santana's out from between them.

Santana's brows furrow. "Huh?" She asks as she looks down, noticing what Brittany means. Apparently, she wasn't prepared for how much she was going to shoot, because slowly dripping out of her jeans, sliding down the zip is glistening moisture, similar to the one on her fingers. A blush creeps up on her cheeks, but then she thinks it's ridiculous considering what just happened, and shakes it off. "Oh, yeah."

Brittany continues to chuckle as Santana pushes off her best friend's knees, wiggling against the uncomfortable feeling of drying come rubbing her softening cock from inside her boxers and scrunching her nose. "I feel like a teenager again," Santana says, pinching her forehead and grinning at the ground.

"Well your mom's not here to surprise you," Brittany quips, shooting a wink at the brunette as she lifts her hips from the sofa cushions to pull her leggings up properly. "and make you come inside your boxers before you can grab some tissues," she finishes, plucking at the hem of her top as she clamps her knees together with a large smile.

Santana gives her a playful _shut up _look with narrowed eyes and a small smirk. "Well excuse me if I didn't want to stop you and say _hold up, let me get some tissues._"

A pillow smacks her in her stomach, followed by a heavenly giggle. "I wouldn't have minded."

"Yeah," Santana bends down and picks up the pillow, fluffing it in her hands. "I'm sure you wouldn't have minded if I stopped doing what _I _was doing."

Brittany shrugs. "You weren't really doing much for me." There's affection lacing her tone so Santana knows her best friend's joking, otherwise her ego might've been _seriously_ affected.

Santana quirks an eyebrow and takes a step closer to Brittany, crouching down and trailing her fingers up the expanse of her best friend's leg, dipping into where her calf muscle curves. Sapphire eyes widen, watching Santana's every move and the brunette grins as she hears an audible gulp, and a familiar pair of blue orbs following her like a hawk. But she continues, lingering slightly at the bottom of a strong knee, before dipping to the inside of Brittany's thighs, continuing up dangerously close to the place that makes her mouth water with anticipation and arousal.

As she gets to the apex of Brittany's thighs, her eyes flicker up to meet Brittany's, now dark and slightly hooded, and she grins. However just as her finger seems like it's about to run up the crease between Brittany's centre and thigh, she dips up and underneath the blondes top, who gasps in response. The skin is so smooth under her fingertip that Santana almost melts right then and there, and she traces up and down the line of Brittany's abs, then across her taut stomach from side to side and pauses at her protruding hipbone.

"I think this," Santana's eyes are still locked with Brittany's as she traces around the blondes right hipbone, then across to the other – emphasizing the feeling of them _still _rolling, "Proves different."

A blush creeps up on Brittany's face and Santana taps her hipbone once before standing, heading straight for her bedroom. She can hear the blonde giggling and a massive grin spreads across her face. It's ridiculous how easily Brittany can make her smile, and as she slips out her messed jeans and boxers, and slips into a new pair of boxers and some sweatpants, her stomach only flips several times over with the memory of what happened flashing behind her eyelids.

"Hey, San?"

Santana hears Brittany call from the living room, and rocks onto the balls of her feet to pull her sweatpants up before answering, "Yeah?"

"I'm gonna make some pancakes," Brittany's head pokes around the door frame, "Want some?"

Santana turns and pinches her lips up at the side as if she's thinking of an answer. Her eyes narrow playfully and she slowly walks over in the direction of her best friend. "You gonna put maple syrup on them?"

Brittany grins widely. "Did my cat used to read my diary?"

"Uh…" Santana hesitates and runs her hand through the side of Brittany's hair. "Britt, about that…"

"Shut up," the blonde scrunches her nose and grabs the hand running through her hair, twining their fingers together. "Yes, there's maple syrup. Now do you want some or shall I wait here for a few more seconds whilst you decide?"

Santana's skin flares up at this simplest touch from Brittany, and she feels all her nerves react and fizzle with elation. Being in her twenties, Santana's used to her how her body reacts to different things; she's spent twenty years learning what does what to her. But it seems she still hasn't quite adjusted to the sensation of Brittany's skin on hers. Sure, in the past they've touched, hugged, snuggled and seen each other half-naked, but everything's changed completely, and it reflects when they come in contact with each other. Brittany makes her feel like she's falling and doesn't care where she lands.

"I'd love some."

Brittany smiles and then shuffles towards Santana, head ducking to her chin. Santana inhales sharply, her eyes flickering from velvet, pink lips to bright, sparkling eyes, not sure which one looks more alluring at the moment. Her arms circle around Brittany's waist, and she spans her fingertips underneath the hem of Brittany's top like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"You want pancakes," Brittany's voice is soft when she speaks, and Santana's stomach flips as she knows it's because of what she's doing, "With maple syrup."

"I want pancakes," Santana inches her face closer towards the blondes and inhales in her scent as Brittany's arms loop around her neck. "With maple syrup," she repeats, her voice an octave lower than it was.

Santana licks her lips in anticipation as Brittany shudders in her arms, hoping the wide grin on her face means a kiss, but just as her eyes flutter shut, Brittany's face inching closer and closer, nothing happens. After about two seconds of waiting, Santana cracks open an eye and sees her best friend still standing in front of her, grinning widely.

"Good," Brittany steps away, leaving Santana to pout. "So you won't mind going to get some, then."

Santana's jaw drops into an 'o' shape and her eyes widen in disbelief. Such a classic 'Brittany' thing to do. The blonde cocks her head to the side, smiles and then steps away, tapping Santana's nose and heading in the direction of the kitchen, swaying her hips.

"I thought you said we had some!" Santana half-yells after her, stepping out the bedroom door to look down the hallway.

Brittany pauses and throws a glance over her shoulder. "Guess I lied," she winks and then disappears into the kitchen, leaving Santana to narrow her eyes in an, _I'm-pretending-to-hate-you_ kind of way as she shakes her head and mutters _"flirt" _to herself.

* * *

><p>Santana's about five meters away from the store when her phone buzzes in her pocket, she slips her hand in and takes it out, running her thumb over the sliding lock to read the text.<p>

_We're doing presents when you get back by the way! – B xxx_

She grins and shakes her head, feet still moving towards the store as all her attention focuses on the cell in her hand, and the reply she's conjuring up.

_I thought I already got mine? ;) – S xxx_

The phone's swiftly back in her pocket as the sliding doors open with a greeting _ding_, leaving the cold air outside and introducing Santana to the warmth of the 7/11. Just like she expected, the store's pretty vacant. The clerk behind the counter has his feet propped up, magazine in hand and all concern for the two mischievous looking teens in the corner pocketing various items with no intention of paying for them, completely shot out the window. A few Christmas decorations are hanging limply from the ceiling and Santana's pretty sure they're the same as the ones she first saw when she moved to New York.

"Welcome to 7/11," a monotone voice comes from behind the magazine, "I'm Andrew, if you need any assistance you know where I am, and we here at 7/11 are wishing you Merry Christmas."

Santana wants to ask what the hell that was even about, considering the other 364 days she comes into the shop, there's barely even a glance from whichever mindless clerk is _not _paying attention to the thieves in the back corner, but she decides against it – she kind of wants to get home.

She makes a sound of acknowledgement, thinking it's more polite than completely ignoring him and stuffs her hands in her pockets as she makes her way through the store. The teenagers throw her a nervous glance as she comes to the aisle beside them, and she just chuckles, jutting her chin towards the security camera above them. Both of them to stare at the flashing red light on the side of the device for about two seconds before scampering out of the entrance, tails between their legs.

Just as her eyes dart from side to side, eyeing up the sauces and random condiments, she hears the _ding _of the doors and cranes her neck, rolling onto the balls of her feet to peer over the stacked shelves. It's always intrigued Santana to know who the hell would come to a 7/11 on Christmas day, seeing as it's kind of sad that they're not with family – but then again, _she's _here, so maybe they have a case of syrup emergency too. Maybe they're bouncing in their step, hoping to get home as soon as possible so they can cuddle up to their…

Santana's face falls.

_Best friend._

Coming down to the store now doesn't seem like the best idea in the world. It's like inside the apartment, there was an atmosphere that dragged her into an unbreakable daze – allowing all her concerns and her conscience to just fly out the window. Now she's here, staring mindlessly at shelves that _don't _have syrup on them, just about thirty odd types of ketchup and mayonnaise, she's thinking about what the hell she's going to do when she gets back to Brittany.

She's married. Like, _ring-on-the-finger-devoted-eternal-love-and-traded-vows_ kind of married - not second grade married with candy rings and a kiss on the cheek.

The thoughts get too much, and she shakes them off – it's Christmas, she doesn't want to be dealing with strangling confusion and a guilty conscience. She just wants to enjoy her day with Brittany. _Brittany, _the only girl who makes an idiotic grin slide across Santana's face whilst she walks down countless aisles in search for the hidden bottles of syrup. _Jesus_, it's like 7/11 wantSantana to buy a pair of trekking boots and throw on a survival rucksack just so she can find the damn syrup.

After about another minute lap around the store, she finds the right aisle. There's only two bottles of syrup left on the shelf, and she shrugs, picking up both. There's no such thing as too much syrup, she thinks, and makes her way back to the counter – hoping she actually remembered to stuff a twenty dollar bill into her pants pocket.

It's probably not good for Santana to be feeling this way, but she can't help it. She's practically bouncing in her spot as she waits for the small, Asian lady in front of her to pay for whatever she's buying. _Damn, _how hard is it to just give the damn clerk a few bucks and get on her way? Instead she sets aside the instinct to throttle the innocent bystander in front of her, and lets her brain occupy itself with _other _thoughts. Blonde haired, blue eyes thoughts.

Excited is _definitely_ the word Santana would use to describe her mood right now, even though there is a twinge of nervous mixing with it. Right now, all she wants to do is just throw the greasy clerk the twenty she's now clasping and sprint home – leaving the change there since it's pretty much the last thing on her mind. She's buzzing to see Brittany again, even though only about thirteen minutes since she last saw her.

"Santana?"

_Obviously this would happen._

Reluctantly, Santana turns to see a bundled up version of Rachel Berry - mittens, woolly hat, scarf, the whole works cuddling her tiny hobbit form – standing in front of her with a wide grin. Why couldn't it be Jennifer Lopez, or Halle Berry? Or better yet, Brittany coming down to see why she's been taking so long? Why the hell does _Rachel Berry _have to be here? What are the chances?

"Oh, hi," Santana mutters, keeping her head down as the Asian woman _finally _leaves after paying for her item – yes _singular – _and steps into her place, sliding the bottles of syrup across to the resistant clerk.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asks, her voice high and cheery, and just reeking essence of Christmas. "It's Christmas Day."

"Could ask you the same thing," Santana doesn't turn, keeping her back to the smaller brunette as she hands over the twenty dollar bill to the clerk, still flicking through his magazine with his spare hand. "Shouldn't you be like, I don't know, making sure Gargamel doesn't ruin your festivities?"

Rachel lets out a small laugh. "Oh, Santana. I see Christmas hasn't done anything to cheer up your mood. Are you missing Sophie?"

Rolling her eyes, and _really _wishing Rachel _hadn't _said that, she hastily snatches her change from the clerk, who jerks in surprise and grabs the bottles of syrup. "Actually I was in a good mood until I felt your presence spike the atmosphere."

"Someone's been reading through their cracker jokes this year haven't they?" Rachel retorts, her face splitting into a grin like she thought Santana was _actually _joking.

"Whatever, Berry. I've got to get back to Britt." She steps around the smaller brunette, before her body collides with a similar sized one and the bottles of syrup drop to the floor.

_Of fucking course,_ the one time she actually has an outing to get away from Rachel, someone has to knock her right back into the ear-nagging depths of Berry world and probably route her there for a good ten minutes. _Damn it_, she just wants to get home. Plus, what's even stranger is that she's pretty sure she hasn't actually run into someone in like, ten years. Ever since the age of twelve, she'd perfected a _fuck off_ scowl that somehow constantly remained on her face – even when she didn't mean or want it too – and the majority or people just seemed to stay away from her.

Santana feels her lip curl, now _more_ time is going to be wasted apologising to this stranger when all her legs want to do is lead her back to her apartment and re-join Brittany in enjoying their Christmas festivities.

"Whoah, my bad," a voice comes from above Santana as she ducks to the floor to receive her fallen items, "Wait, Santana, right?"

Santana pockets one bottle in each available pocket and stands again, looking into hazel eyes. "Yes…"

"It's Quinn," the blonde woman says, "Quinn Fabray."

Recognition strikes Santana and she smiles, nodding her head. "Hey, how are you?" It's pretty weird considering she hadn't actually spoken to this woman in a _friendly conversation _kind of way, only the professional one, and now she's talking to Quinn like they've been friends for years.

"I'm good," Quinn says, "Just picking up some last minute presents." Rachel's still hovering behind Santana, and Quinn's eyes flicker over, completely clouding when they land on the small brunette and remain there. "Oh, sorry, did I interrupt you?"

Santana looks back, suddenly remembering Rachel's presence and lets out a loud laugh. "Oh, hell no. _Saved me _is more like it."

The smaller brunette sidles up beside Santana, her eyes still locked with Quinn's as she smiles sweetly. Suddenly this relatively large store seems kind of small, like Santana intruding in something. "Right…"

Rachel turns after a few long seconds, her body sagging as her gaze breaks from Quinn's and looks at Santana expectantly. _That_ was weird. "Well, are you going to introduce us?"

Santana's brow furrows and her sight flickers between the two women in front of her. Seriously, what the hell is going on? "Yeah, right," her body faces Quinn, "Quinn, this is Rachel," then it turns to Rachel, "Rachel, this is Quinn."

Quinn's face beams and Rachel's brightens as they both offer their hands out at the same time, and then blush in embarrassment. This is really cringey, like some lame ass chick flick where two strangers' eyes meet across the room. _Eurgh,_ if Santana doesn't find a waste bin in a few seconds, _clean-up to aisle one_ is going to be coming through the speakers and the clerk is going to be grovelling. On second thought, that kind of seems like a good idea.

"Hi," Rachel smiles sheepishly, "I'm Rachel. I'm friends with Santana."

"Only because of Brittany," Santana interjects, not wanting to give Rachel the gratification of being able to say those words in front of someone else, but also not wanting to be rude seeing as Brittany will probably tell her off later. There's no doubt if she did say anything slightly offensive, Rachel would go straight to Brittany with teary eyes. Stupid actresses.

Quinn cocks an eyebrow. "Brittany?"

"Yeah, the blonde I was with when we first met," Santana elaborates, "This is her best friend."

"Oh."

Rachel narrows her eyes, and Santana tries to read the reasoning behind the confusion suddenly etching its way across Quinn's face. She can't. "Oh?"

"I thought you two were together," Quinn wrinkles her bottom lip into a small pout as if to shrug with her face, "that's all."

"No, that's ridiculous. Santana's mar-"

"_Anyway,"_ Santana steps further towards the door, hoping to make a quick exit, "Yeah, this is Rachel, Quinn," she turns to Rachel, "shake hands, have a hug, hell, ask for her number. Are we done here?"

The shorter brunette seems stunned by Santana's bluntness and clears her throat awkwardly, "I guess so," her attention diverts towards Quinn who's frowning at the interaction happening before her, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Quinn." Rachel's voice is sickeningly sweet as she sticks out her hand, her teeth showing through a wide smile and her eyes gleaming like she just saw the light for the first time. That train wreck's going to be fun to explain to Brittany.

"No, Rachel," Quinn steps forward, and takes the hand offered, sighing when their fingers brush against one another. Santana rolls her eyes, because, _really? _What is this? A stupid romance movie? _No._ "It was all _my_ pleasure."

Rachel's face splits into the widest grin Santana's ever seen, and she tries to think of reasons why the hell Quinn would flatter the dwarf? Seriously, she's doing a pretty good job of feigning interest if it's not legit. "Anyway, however corny and awkward this meeting was, I think I'm gonna go now."

"Yeah…" Rachel breathes, eyes glossed over like she's in a daze," That… Sounds… Yeah."

Quinn chuckles and suddenly the smaller brunette snaps out of it, blushing furiously as her hands make a path down the front of her miniature skirt, (not to mention a skirt? What the fuck? It's like zero degrees outside), to smooth out the creases as her eyes dart to the floor. "I've gotta get going too."

Santana scoffs and then looks between the two women, not sure if she should go or stay seeing as the last thing she wants is to miss an opportunity to see Berry getting arrested because of indecent exposure and sexual indecency. Now that shit, would be funny as hell. "Okay then…"

Rachel spares Quinn one last sappy grin, which the blonde returns, and then waves sheepishly and exits, apparently forgetting her reason for actually being in the store in the first place. Santana's brows raise, a large crease forming in the middle as she tries to make sense of what the hell just happened. It's pretty obvious that Quinn's into Rachel, and vice versa, and _fuck _knows why. She can think of more appealing lepers.

"What was that?" Santana asks, her eyes flickering towards the door where Quinn's eyes are still routed.

Quinn stays silent, and Santana coughs lightly, but still, _nothing._

"Quinn?" Santana waves her hand in front of the blondes face, "Are you in to _her?_"

This grabs Quinn's attention and she whips her head round, straightening up and shifting the lapels of her jacket like she's trying to play it cool. "Nah, she's... Course not."

"Yeah," Santana deadpans, shoving her hands deep into her pockets and rocking up onto the balls of her feet, "Sure seems like it."

An awkward silence invades their conversation as Santana looks around the shop, trying to find something to use as an excuse to get out of there without being rude. Thankfully, Quinn shuffles and stands in front of her, focusing all her attention on the girl in front.

"Hey," Quinn puts her hands into her pockets, "I was meaning to ring you, actually."

A perfectly shaped eyebrow perks up, "Why?"

"I was wondering if Millennium," hazel eyes dart around the store, like what the blonde's about to say is the most difficult thing in the world, "If you guys were still interested."

"In you?"

Quinn nods, "Yeah."

Santana runs uneasy fingers through her hair. It's probably not the wisest idea to tell a possible artist that she's considering leaving Millennium because she can't handle having the boss she does anymore, or the work hours, or just, _yeah,_ that she can't deal with her job. "Uh, I'm not too sure."

Quinn's face falls with disappointment, "Oh, right," she scuffs her shoe along the floor and then glances up, forcing a wide grin that really isn't convincing at all, "Doesn't matter. Just wondering. Well, I've gotta go now." She offers Santana a quick wave and then turns away, zipping up her bomber jacket and tucking her chin into the collar before heading for the exit.

She doesn't know why, and sure as hell can't explain what the hell she's even thinking about doing this for, but Santana jerks forward, her hand flying to Quinn's and pulling the blonde to an abrupt halt. Hazel eyes stare at her with question, and Santana retracts her hand, stuffing them into her pockets of her jeans as she looks past the blonde into the snowy streets of New York.

"Look," Santana whispers, like it's a stage secret, "I only said that because I'm not sure how long I'm staying at Millennium for."

There's something resembling hope that flickers behind hazel eyes, "Why?"

Santana shuffles back, clearing her throat as her eyes dart around her surroundings. It's like a crime movie where she's pretty sure secret agents are going to be hiding round the corner, or cameras zooming in on her face and recording the conversation as she speaks. "Because I just…" her voice trails off and she tries to find the right words to say, but nothing comes out.

"Do you wanna get a coffee and talk about it?" Quinn offers, "And trust me I'm not asking you out."

Santana chuckles, her cell phone buzzing in her pocket and the maple syrup bottles half-hanging out her jacket pockets. It's probably Brittany, and there's pancakes waiting at home. But she doesn't get a lot of opportunities talk to someone about music, which actually _understands _music. Sure, Brittany's great to talk to, and she kind of gets it, seeing as her life revolves around dance, but it's just not the same thing.

"Sure," Santana smiles, "Coffee."

* * *

><p>It's about an hour later when she walks out of Starbucks with Quinn.<p>

"Thanks," Santana stops, chugging back the remains of her coffee before chucking the cup into a nearby trash can, "You've helped, a lot."

Quinn nods in agreement, "You've helped me too. But, just think about what I said?" She pats Santana's bicep, "Alright?"

The blonde is right. She said, after Santana delved into the dark secrets of the music entertainment business in regards to Millennium, that there's no point in staying somewhere where her needs aren't being fulfilled. Santana doesn't want a job where they want to make money; she wants a job where they make music because they _want_ to make music. To spread the deep meaning and joy that songs can bring. Yeah, it pays Santana's income and gives her the big ass apartment and ability to go a little crazy sometimes, but that's not why she does it. Honestly, if she could choose, and if it was actually a possibility, she'd do it for free. Music means _that _much to her. Mostly because it saved her when Brittany couldn't, and for that she'll always be eternally grateful.

"Yeah," Santana breathes in the cold, crisp city air and then out to form little clouds, "I'll think about it."

"Okay, well I've gotta go to a gig now, so I'll talk to you later." Quinn leans in, hugging Santana and then parts, offering a small wave as she says "_bye"._

Santana watches the blonde walk away, when she remembers something. "Hey, Q?"

"Yeah?" Quinn turns around.

Santana grins, "Check your phone," she nods down towards the blondes pocket before turning away and walking back to the apartment.

* * *

><p>Halfway home, her cell buzzes in her jeans pocket and she grabs it, sliding her thumb across the screen to reveal two texts and two phone calls. The phone calls are from an unknown number, and then the two texts are from Brittany. Instantly, butterflies flutter inside her stomach and she can't fight the ridiculous grin that spreads across her face.<p>

With a tap of her finger, she opens the first message.

_You did get __**a **__present, but not your proper one :P – B xxx_

She shakes her head, discreetly pinching her own thigh through denim when the shot of arousal bottoms out at the apex of her thighs. Getting an erection in the middle of the street, in jeans, is pretty damn hard to hide, and not to mention it's embarrassing as hell. She moves onto the next text, flicking it open in a similar fashion.

_Hurry up! I'm getting impatient! – B xxx  
>(P.S. if you forget the syrup you're gonna be in trouble.)<em>

It's starting to snow lightly, and Santana knows she's looking forward to night of close contact and cuddling, for, you know, warmth obviously. She loves the snow. She's always loved the snow, ever since she was a little kid and had her first white Christmas. There's something about snow that seems to take away all the melancholy that most other weather conditions create. Everyone complains when it rains, heavy or light, everyone complains when it's sunny, because it's either too hot or not hot enough, and everyone complains when it's windy, because it messes up their hair. But snow, there's a period of time when the snow starts falling, that everyone just gets up, looks out the window and watches each individual snowflake cascade through the air, twirling and flying without a care in the world. She loves that snow has that effect on people.

Santana arrives at her apartment block, entering in the four digit code to get in, when suddenly a wave of nausea hits her. She's nervous. To see Brittany. The one person who she probably feels _most_ comfortable with in the world – and that includes her wife. But when she climbs up the set of stairs, deciding the elevator would take too long, the intense nerves switch to humming excitement.

A quick click of the lock, and she pushes her apartment door open, smiling at the smell of pancakes, warmth and _Brittany._ Damn, she doesn't ever think she'll get used to this strange feeling.

"Britt?" Santana calls, stepping over the threshold and pulling the bottles of syrup out her coat, placing them on the side table. "I'm back."

The jacket comes next, and she tosses it where it lands perfectly on one of the hooks on the coat rack. A small sense of satisfaction flushes through her, because let's be honest, that was _totally _cool, and it's only added to the intense buzzing going through her body. It's like nothing can dampen her mood today.

"Brittany?" Santana turns to slide the locks into place after closing the door. "Where are you?" She tries again, but there's no answer.

After picking up the bottles of syrup, she heads around the small wall blocking her view of the living room, stepping over something by her feet and slows as Brittany comes into sight.

The blonde's sitting on the sofa, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a baggy white t-shirt, her hair's damp and tied into a high ponytail. Santana quirks an eyebrow, it's not strange for Brittany to have a shower, but in some ways, it kind of is. Not to be presumptuous, but Santana would've thought she saved the shower for later.

"Britt?" Her feet wander cautiously into the room, around the sofa so she can take in the expression on Brittany's face. When she does, her own face pales, because Brittany does _not_ look good. "What's wrong?"

Santana drops the bottles of syrup to the sofa, and bends, crouching in front of her best friend as she places both hands on the blonde's knees, looking up into blank blue eyes. "Britt?"

Brittany finally snaps out of whatever daze she's in, and her eyes slowly moves down from their place on the TV, which is playing a mindless cartoon, to meet brown ones staring up at her. Santana gulps, because she can read the fear, regret and sadness lingering behind those eyes she's become so wonderfully accustomed too. Panic seeps into her body and she tries to fight the rise of bile she feels bubbling at the back of her throat because her eyes, for some strange reason, start darting around the room.

It's only then does she notice the pair of knee length leather boots sitting haphazardly by the small wall.

It's only then does she notice the extra coat hanging on the rack.

It's only then that she realises there's two, small, black suitcases sitting on the kitchen island, with a glass of red wine that she _knows_ Brittany doesn't drink, sitting right beside it.

"Surprise," Brittany whispers, her voice cracking and hoarse like she just spent the last half hour crying.

Her heart almost stops functioning around the same time her brain does when she glances back to Brittany. The blonde is staring at her with pained, blue eyes and she's slowly pushing Santana's hands off her knees as she gets up from the sofa, her knuckles pushing against the cushions to support her weight.

Santana's still crouched in front of the sofa, which isn't occupied and it's like her visions blurry as she stares at nothing sitting in front of her. Her fingers flex against the sofa cushions, since they must have landed there when Brittany got up, and suddenly it's like the fabric beneath her palms is the only thing keeping her stable, keeping her from falling and possibly passing out as her skull hits the hardwood floor.

"Babe!" A familiar voice booms throughout the room, and Santana winces as her the muscles in her legs make the decision for her to stand up. "You're back!"

Brittany's standing in the corner, her back facing the television as her arms are securely crossed across her chest. Her eyes are a dark blue, and bloodshot, like she's trying to hold back unshed tears, and Santana looks across the room, at nothing in particular as she tries to avoid the guilt pangs violently strumming against her insides.

She's about to open her mouth to say something, to say _anything_ because right now would definitely be the best time – but instead something slightly heavy collides with her body. Legs wrap around her middle and she feels hands push against her cheeks to bring lips to her own. It takes about two seconds to register that someone's kissing her, someone that isn't Brittany, and that Brittany is watching this happen.

Hesitantly, and carefully, she opens her eyes, immediately locking with sad crystal blue ones staring at her from across the room as lips glide across her own. It's strange, like painfully strange, partially because she hasn't actually bothered to take a look at the body connected to the lips, and mostly because about two hours ago, she was doing the exact same thing with the person she's looking at with apologetic eyes. Two hours ago, her lips were pressed against Brittany's, sliding and gliding over each other smoothly as their tongues caressed each other's lips carefully.

But now, she's holding someone in her arms, doing the exact same thing with someone that it doesn't feel as half as good with. It's like her body is being possessed by someone else, like it's not her own as her lips release from the ones occupying hers with a _pop._ Arms pull against her head, legs tightening around her midsection, and she feels a nose bury into the crook of her neck as she tries to convey every _sorry_ and _please don't hate me _she can possible cram into one glance at her best friend.

"I've missed you," the words print into her skin at the base of her neck, and they singe again her like an open flame. "I've missed you so much."

Santana barely pays attention to it though, instead focused on the way Brittany's body deflates, her shoulders sag as she swallows and blinks, a stray tear leaving the corner of her left eye and trailing excruciatingly painfully down her pale porcelain cheek. The blonde swallows audibly, her arms visibly clenching tighter around her body as she looks up at Santana with glossy eyes, saying the one thing Santana really didn't want to hear, and the one thing that was inevitable, but still hurts more than either one of them could imagine.

"Sophie's back."

* * *

><p><strong>You know the deal. Hope you enjoyed!<strong>


	11. chapter eleven

**Sorry for the wait guys! But I hope this monster of a chapter makes up for it!**

**Just to let you know, I'm planning on a sequel already! Even though this is in it's early days.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and it's all angst from here on - you know how I roll.**

**Have fun!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Eleven]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>Just above 12k.

* * *

><p><strong>29<strong>**th**** December **

"_Sophie's back."_

The words are still lingering in the forefront of her mind, mocking her and clenching her heart. It's been four days since Brittany left, four days since her best friend smiled weakly, wiped away the stray tear from the skin of her left cheek and made up an excuse that she had to be somewhere with Rachel. Santana knew better though, little did Brittany know she'd just seen the short brunette – but it wasn't like she was in the position to say anything.

Sophie had talked _at_ her for about three hours straight, telling Santana about her trip and how Beijing is _'amazing with all its skyscrapers and buzzing atmosphere'_. Personally, Santana's never seen the attraction to walk around in a place full of strangers that practically breathe in your own personal oxygen. Brittany once said it was ridiculous of her to think that, considering she lived in one of the busiest cities in the entire world, but _hey,_ she's just like that. So instead of listening, she zoned out about two words into the _'epic trip of a lifetime'_ as Sophie had called it.

But the one thing that had caught Santana's attention was the way Sophie avoided the reason for coming back early. Wasn't she supposed to have gone for a week?

"Hey, Sophie?" Santana asks, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table as she flicks through the TV channels, "Why did you come back early?"

Sophie stills, pausing as she pours a cup of coffee. "They didn't, um, need me anymore."

"They didn't need you anymore?"

Feet pad along the floor and next thing she knows, Sophie's sitting next to her, legs swung over her lap as she blows the steam off her coffee. "Nope, hey, did you want a cup?"

Santana shakes her head; it would've been nice to have been offered a cup when Sophie was up, but _hey,_ that would just be selfish, wouldn't it? "Nah, I'm good."

She finds Desperate Housewives on TV, one of the few episodes she _hasn't _seen and chucks the remote onto the coffee table. Something interesting happens on screen, like a murder or the very likely event of a plane crashing into Wisteria Lane, but she doesn't focus as her mind wanders. It's like when Sophie went away, something happened inside of Santana and despite it not even being two weeks since their wedding, she doesn't feel that buzz anymore. That buzz she always used to get when she saw Sophie smile, or laugh, or brush a piece of hair behind her ear, the one that made her stomach flip and heart spin.

But now?

_Nothing._

Now the once adorable actions like twiddling the hem of her t-shirt between her fingers, or the way Sophie calls Santana _babe_, now does Santana's head in. It's like signing that marriage certificate has flipped a switch and now turned everything she once found endearing and adorable about her wife into irritating habits. Not to mention Sophie's crude comments and suggestive innuendo's that make her sound like she's been hanging around Puckerman too often. Those qualities inside a man are incredibly unattractive, Santana assumes, but at least they can put it down to their constant libido and sexual cravings. In a woman it just makes her look desperate and up for anything.

"Babe?" There it is. That _damn_ nickname that gives Santana the irrational urge to make a fist-shaped hole in the Styrofoam wall behind the headboard of the bed. "Why _was_ Britt here? When I came back?"

Santana freezes, she was kind of hoping Sophie wouldn't bring Brittany up. "Uh, her family couldn't come back from England. Neil's ill. I already told you this." Her tone drops as guilt fills her chest, she's the worst best friend _ever._

"Who's Neil?" Sophie half-scoffs, sipping loudly on her coffee and swallowing it with an equal volume. Oh God, _another _annoying habit to put on the list.

"Brittany's dad, Sophie, I've told you this like a million times."

It's true; she has told Sophie pretty much everything about Brittany's family, not to mention their history. Although something tells her that if she asked a single question, Sophie would either or run away. _Seriously? _What has marriage done to her? She thinks she's being irrational until her eyes lock onto the bare skin of Sophie's collarbone.

"Soph," Santana reaches out to hook her finger into the neckline or Sophie's t-shirt, pulling it down to confirm what she was suspecting. "Where's your necklace?"

Sophie barely even seems bothered by the missing piece of jewellery and burning adrenaline spikes Santana's veins. It wasn't even her damn present in the first place, and now she's barely acknowledging that she's lost it. _What the fuck?_

"Huh?"

"I said," Santana tugs a little harder on the neckline, "Where's the necklace I got you for Christmas?"

Sophie barely hums in response, shrugging her shoulders like the damn silver necklace was worth a hobo's shoe, not two hundred dollars. _Fuck,_ it wasn't even her damn present and now she's gone and fucking lost it. "Don't know," she answers fast, waving one hand in the air like she's dismissing Santana, "but please babe,be quiet, I'm trying to watch TV."

Losing her resolve second by second, Santana snaps her hand away, feeling the anger fizzle in her fingertips as she stares incredulously at her girlfriend. "You serious? You've lost the necklace?"

"I haven't lost it," Sophie mutters with disinterest, "Just misplaced it."

"Well find it."

Sophie spares a quick glance. "After this, I'll look," then returns to the TV once more.

Santana grits her teeth, feeling acidic rise in the back of her throat. Right now she really wishes she had something to take her rational urge to punch something out on. Preferably a punch bag. if not, Puck would do. She loves his reaction when she jabs him in the arm with all her strength.

"Can you just," Santana inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb, "look for it now? I took a long time to find it an-," she bites back the '_it wasn't even meant for you'_. "Can you just look for it, now? Please?" It comes out in a long exhale.

"After, babe."

"Sophie, please."

Sophie sips on her coffee non-chalantly. "I'll do it after."

Santana shakes her head, losing the ability to stay calm and slides her palms around Sophie's calf muscle, pushing pale legs off her lap. "It's not like I'm asking you to climb Everest, I'm asking you to look for an expensive necklace I bought you for Christmas."

"Jheeze, Santana. Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, did we?" Sophie doesn't take her eyes off the television as she tucks her legs underneath her, smirking at her own comment.

"Maybe I'd appreciate you listening to me once in a fucking while," Santana retorts, her knuckles digging into the sofa cushions as she hastily pushes up and stares down at her wife with narrowed eyes. "Like now would be good."

Sophie's golden-green eyes remain locked on the screen. "I _am _listening."

"Then look at me."

Reluctantly, Sophie tears her eyes away from the screen and looks to Santana, eyebrows raised in a _happy now?_ kind of way. It only irritates Santana more and she kicks the base of the sofa, ignoring the intense throb in her little toe and the fleeting thought that maybe that _wasn't _a good idea without shoes on.

"Why are you being like this?" Sophie leans forward, the coffee cup sliding along the glass table until it stops in the middle. It's stupid, and petty, but Santana can't even count the number of times she's asked Sophie to put her fucking mugs and glasses on a fucking mat. Seriously, how hard is it to grab one from the ridiculous dispenser Sophie_ insisted _would come in handy? _Fuck._

"Why am _I _being like this?" Santana repeats, her fists clenching by her side.

Sophie nods in a condescending _yah _which only makes Santana want to make the fist-shaped hole into a Sophie's head-shaped hole. "Maybe if you weren't being such a-"

"Babe, seriously, can we talk about this after? Gabriella's about to find out her daughter isn't hers."

That's pretty much the last straw for Santana. She hisses at the acid bubbling on her tongue, pushing back the red that flashes across her eyes as she lurches for her coat, slipping on her shoes next and abruptly slams the door shut behind her on exit. She forgets her cell and keys are inside the apartment.

* * *

><p>"<em>Sophie's back." Brittany whispered, swallowing as she fought back the tears.<em>

_Santana's hands wrapped around Sophie's waist, supporting the weight as her bodies wife further up her body. Blue eyes locked onto the movement, increasing in pain. _Shit._ That must have looked like Santana was hugging back._

"_Wh-wha…" Santana trailed off, trying to find the right words. She was pretty sure her body was still stiff from the sudden arrival of her wife, days early. It kind of felt like she was being caught red-handed. Guilt flushed through her, blood rushing to her face as her eyes remained on the blonde in the corner of the room. The distance between them wasn't actually that much, but it felt like miles._

"_Surprised?" Sophie grinned, nuzzling her nose against Santana's as her green eyes sparkled with affection. "I thought it would be a nice Christmas present, even if I did ring you twice but you didn't answer."_

"_Uh," It's like Santana's throat was thickened with a layer of concrete as she connected the anonymous missed phone calls with Sophie's words. Sophie had tried to ring her. Fuck, "D-definitely surprised."_

_She knew she needed to keep it cool, to act like ice and make like a polar bear. But she couldn't. What was she supposed to do? The woman she cheated on with her wife, who also happened to be her best friend and crush, (_uh_, even that word makes Santana cringe), was standing across the room with wounded eyes - whilst her wife was wrapped up in her arms, completely oblivious to the tension and racing thoughts going on inside her mind. Santana was really starting to fucking hate herself._

_Just then the atmosphere shifted and Santana whipped her head around, meeting dark blue eyes. "I've gotta go," Brittany announced, finally moving as she grabbed her belongings for the door._

_Santana as quickly and as gently as possible, let her grip go from her wife, allowing Sophie to slowly slide down her bottom until her feet touched the floor. _

"_You've gotta go?" Santana repeated, slight accusation lacing her tone._

_Brittany nodded, clearly doing her best to restrain her emotions as a pale, shaky hand reached for the doorknob. "Yeah, Rachel's waiting for me."_

_That wasn't true, Santana knew it. Only an hour ago she'd seen Rachel, heading back to her dads' house for Christmas, well, she thought that was the case anyway. Plus, it wasn't like Brittany to change her plans on Christmas Day – she'd never leave Santana unless something pretty bad happened - bad being an understatement when describing the situation they were in. But it wasn't like Santana could comment_

"_Rachel?" Santana stepped forward, realising her fingers were laced with Sophie's as she was tugged back. Suddenly her hand felt like a thousand tons as she saw Brittany's body flinch out the corner of her eye._

"_Yeah," Brittany said, her voice rough with sadness as her eyes darted down to laced fingers. "I'll see you… Whenever."_

_Just like that, Brittany left. Not even sparing a single glance as she quickly disappeared through the door, it slamming with an echo that would repeat in Santana's mind for several nights to come._

* * *

><p>Santana's pretty sure she's about to throw up into Mrs Henderson's flower patch when she arrives at Brittany's apartment. Mrs Henderson's a sweet old woman, around eighty or so, but she definitely wouldn't take kindly to her gardenia's being covered in vomit. Hell, that poor woman spends the majority of her day plucking and pruning that tiny patch of grass covered in various flowers and the last thing Santana wants to do is upset someone else. She might as well start writing down a list.<p>

The street is pretty empty considering it's a Friday and 11pm, but there's still some noise from the local nightclub, and a few early night drunks lumbering about and giggling at a squirrel crossing the road or something equally lame. Fake ID's and teenagers have never been a good equation.

But it still doesn't quell Santana's nerves as she taps her foot up and down on the stoop, wondering what she's supposed to say as an apology, or if she's even supposed to apologise for her best friend. Sure, they haven't talked, no texts or calls, but neither even tried to initiate it. She guesses she should feel bad, but knowing Brittany didn't even try and contact her kind of makes it a little easier.

She shakes her head. This is ridiculous. They've always been able to get over problems in their friendship, always been able to sweep it under the rug – so this shouldn't be any different, right? Something tells her she's wrong.

All the same, Santana takes a deep breath and raps on the door, bracing herself for what's to come.

She doesn't wait for meaningless greetings as the door swings open. Instead, she digs her hands into her pants pocket; her eyebrows scrunch together as she stares at the ground like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "Hey, look, I know we haven't spoken in-"

"Hey, Santana."

The back of her neck feels too hot, and she clenches her hands inside her jeans, pinching the skin of her thigh as her teeth grit together. That's not the voice she was expecting, and that's _definitely _not the voice she wants to be hearing at 11pm on a Friday night. Surely enough, as she looks up and gages the face of the man standing before her, the confirmation of her own suspicion just slaps her in the face.

"Mike?" The name slips out Santana's mouth like it's foreign, "Um, hey."

"Who is it?" Brittany's voice calls from deep inside the house, increasing in volume as footsteps pad through the hose. "If it's Mrs Henderson you can tell her it's not me playing the music this-,"

Brittany comes into view, wearing a short dressing robe that finishes mid-thigh, revealing her bare legs. Her eyes widen, movements slowing as blue slowly flicker from Mike towards Santana, and then back again. "Santana," she says, her voice flat.

It's definitely not the wisest idea; coming to Brittany's house just so that she can have the door slammed in her face. Inside her mind she's been trying not to see that as a possible outcome of her sudden visit, but the more she thinks about it, the more likely she thinks it is. Guess she is kind of happy Mike's here, seeing as Brittany wouldn't shut the door on her face with someone witnessing that act. Brittany's not like that.

"What do you want?" Brittany says, the words kind of sounding like a sneer but it still has an underlying tone of affection that makes Santana want to smile. Brittany's never been able to stay mad at her.

"Hi," Santana says, because it's the only thing she can think of - especially with Mike still standing there with, _oh…_ a blue bathrobe on. How cute, matching clothes. She doesn't even want to think why they're dressed like that, and she definitely doesn't want to show the hurt she's feeling, knowing exactly what they were doing to get into that outfit. Suddenly all the malice she feels for the innocent man streams through her veins once more.

"Mike, can you go inside? I just want to talk to Santana for a minute."

Santana turns, resting her butt against the railing on the stoop as her arms cross across her chest. The use of her full name is enough to tell her that this conversation isn't going to be pleasant. Brittany only uses it when she's either pissed off, upset or pouting. _Damn,_ Santana really wishes Brittany was pouting right now – at least the other two possibilities would be erased.

By the time she looks back to the door, Mike's slipping into the living room, smiling sweetly at Brittany like she's the best thing that ever happened. It's been four days and it seems he's already completely inebriated by the blonde. A little part of Santana hates that her best friend has that effect on people. Brittany pulls each side of her robe together, tying the ribbon in a neat bow at the centre of her midsection as she exhales heavily. The blonde quickly steps over the threshold, quivering at the slight breeze as she leans in a mimicked position, across from Santana.

"Shacked up with Chang now, are we?" Santana can't hide the plain jealously in her question, which is kind of more like a statement as her chin juts in the direction of the closed door. "That was quick."

"Why are you here?" Brittany breathes, in a way that makes Santana think she's getting tired of her. The fact that the blonde just ignored the half-jibe just kind of confirms that.

Santana decides making light of the situation would be easier. She's never had to deal with the aftermath of a pissed off/hurt Brittany so it's a risk. Then again, coming here in the first place was a big enough risk of its own.

"Can't I come and see my best friend once in a while?" She jokes, smiling at the blonde and hoping to God it wasn't a bad move.

Brittany's lips twitch and she smiles sadly, looking to the ground. "Do you really need to ask that?"

"Just checking to see if it's still alright," Santana says in the same light tone, but she tries to convey the seriousness of the statement. "I haven't exactly been the best, best friend."

"We're both as bad as each other, San." Brittany replies, her tone lightening as the blue in her eyes brighten.

"No Britt," she presses on, "I've been a jackass." Jackass is a pretty mild statement considering her actions in the last few days. But the way Brittany glances up and raises an eyebrow makes her think the blonde knows that. She smirks. "See, I can see it in your face."

The urge to step across the gap, and press her finger into the slight crease above Brittany's eyebrow burns down her arm, but she knows she can't. So instead, she just moves across the stoop, taking the spot next to her best friend so their nearly shoulder to shoulder.

"We're, alright, aren't we?" Santana asks warily, needing to hear the actual words otherwise it'll just rack her brain for the nights to come. "We're good?"

Brittany nods, a lock of blonde hair falling down in front of her face. "When are we ever not?" She says with a smile, grinning as her lips press into her teeth.

"You know what I mean," Santana doesn't care anymore, instead she reaches up, her fingers grazing lightly at the skin on Brittany's cheekbone as the lock of hair tucks behind a pink tinged ear. It's probably the cold, and _not_ Santana's touch that did that. "I just want to know if we're okay."

"I know," Brittany tilts her head away from Santana's touch, leaving caramel fingers to hover in the air awkwardly. She knows it was a long shot to touch the blonde, but it was like a need. A burning urge that she just couldn't restrain. "We're okay."

"You sure?"

There's something inside of Santana that just wishes that Brittany would come out and say _no. _She wishes that she could stand on the stoop, demanding to know _why _they're not okay, seeing as the answer is just a cover up, and waiting until Brittany tells her why they did what they did on Christmas day. It's not what two best friends do, especially not with the connection they had, nor the fact that one of them is married. In terms of friendships, that was definitely not in the realms of normalcy.

A slow nod responds to her brief question, "Yeah, we're good. We're always good."

_That's the problem_, she thinks she hears on the end of the sentence, but risking their quick make-up just in confirmation isn't worth it. So instead she sighs, and drums her fingertips along the black, metal railing she's leaning on.

"So, you and Chang?" Santana asks, her gaze trained on the small flower patch as she tries to keep her voice steady.

Brittany turns her head, eyes focusing on Santana's profile. "What about us?"

"Bit random?"

Out the corner of her eye, she sees fair eyebrows furrow, "Not really, we had a date."

* * *

><p>"<em>Baby, what's up with you?" Sophie's hands trailed down Santana's chest, slipping over her boobs as lips pressed into the side of her neck. Her hands paused just about Santana's clothed navel, scratching lightly as they balled into fists.<em>

_Santana grimaced. Probably not the best reaction to be having to her wife's touch. "I'm fine."_

_She was definitely not fine. The day was Boxing Day - the day after the suckiest Christmas of all time. Which includes the one where 9 year old Santana woke up to her mother underneath the Christmas tree, open presents spread everywhere with a variety of different empty liquor bottles and a man between her thighs - a man that was definitely_ not _her dad._

_It was 9pm. Santana knew this because she'd been watching the clock tick by, second by second, for the past two hours. 7pm was the typical date arrival time, and she knew Brittany well enough to know that two hours was definitely the limit. The urge to sprint to her best friend's house and wait for the arrival of Brittany and the Asian Ninja surged through her thigh muscles, but she couldn't come up with a legitimate reason to go out. _

_Apparently all the world's bread, milk and eggs were in their apartment. She'd found that out when she said she was going out to buy some around 8.30. Orange juice did spring to mind, but the chances that Sophie _also _had that somewhere in stocks Santana never knew of, were very high, so she went against it. Plus, any excuse she came up with now would seem suspicious. She couldn't have that._

"_Come on, babe." Sophie nipped Santana's lobe, sucking lightly. "We never had our wedding night."_

_Santana shivered at the suggestion and sat up, leaning away from her wife who was standing behind the sofa she was occupying. "Not tonight, Soph. I'm tired."_

"_I'll do all the work," She felt the atmosphere shift as Sophie trailed one finger across the back of the sofa, moving around it to stand in front of Santana, between her legs and the coffee table. "You won't have to do anything, but lie back and enjoy."_

_A hand pushed to the valley of Santana's chest, and her back met the back of the sofa. Sophie leaned down slowly, and probably seductively, but she didn't notice. Her mind was too occupied with the intense volume of the ticks the clock was making. She was expecting Brittany to ring after the date. That's what the blonde always used to do. _

_Then again, things were different._

"_Soph…" Santana's voice strained with slight frustration. If she felt anything in the world at that moment, it was decidedly _not _aroused._

"_Come on, babe…" Sophie's voice was an octave lower as she threw one leg either side of Santana's hips, straddling her._

_But there was no chance. Santana didn't even think Sophie getting down on her knees and sucking could even make her hard. And frankly, she didn't want to feel the embarrassment as well as everything else she was feeling. _

"_I said no." She grabbed Sophie's thighs and picked her up, hastily placing her wife in the spot she was just in before walking towards the bedroom._

_The door slammed shut without another word._

* * *

><p>"Did you?" Santana asks, her face scrunching as she tries to forget that she definitely <em>did <em>remember their date. After entering the bedroom she practically threw herself onto the bed, burying her face into the pillow as she thrashed about violently. She felt like a little kid, but it did help with releasing some of the frustration. "I didn't remember."

"Oh," she's pretty sure she hears disappointment in Brittany's voice. But before she can comment, that fake smile is back on Brittany's face. "Well, yeah, the date went well."

"I can see," Santana mutters under her breath, gripping the railing tighter as it presses into the back of her thighs. "Well, that's good."

Blue eyes narrow, apparently Brittany heard. _Good. _"Was there anything else?"

Her tone is neither accusatory nor hopeful, but it gives Santana the feeling that Brittany wants to get back inside, quickly. She's not sure if it's because Brittany wants to get away from her, or get back to _him _– either way, it makes her stomach feel like it's about to drop out her ass. The thought grinds at her stomach, the pain clawing up the back of her throat as she fights back the urge to say _he doesn't deserve you_ and scoop Brittany up into her arms, whisking her away from everything.

"No," Santana shakes her head solemnly, pushing her butt forward so she's standing in the middle of the stoop in front of her best friend. "That was it."

Brittany stands, tightening her robe and crossing her arms. "Okay."

There's something unsaid lingering in the air, and Santana knows both of them can sense it. Brittany's looking at her with that _are-you-going-to-say-it_ kind of look, and it just makes her want to jump into a pit because she knows she _can't _say it. She wants to say that Brittany means more to her than appropriate, she wants to say that Mike isn't the person she should be with, she wants to say that she doesn't know what the fuck is going on inside her brain, but she knows that she wants Brittany. But she can't.

Because of the wedding ring on her finger, and the Asian guy less than ten metres away.

And judging by the long exhalation, Brittany gets that too.

"I'll see you…" Santana trails off, uncertain of what's going to come of them now. "…Whenever I see you."

"Yeah… Bye Santana."

Santana turns and walks down the stoop, hands in pockets and heart heavy.

"San?"

She turns, eyebrow raised as her heart skips a beat. The way her name rolls off Brittany's tongue like that just… _Uh._ It does stupid things to her insides, "Yeah?"

Brittany bites her lip and then releases it, eyes narrowed like she's reading a book. "We're dressed like this" – she sweeps down her body - "because we were in the Jacuzzi, and no. We haven't had sex."

Santana's heart stops beating, blood rushing to her face. Relief washes through her but she can barely pay attention to it, only panicking that her best friend's developed the ability to read her mind or something. "I didn't ask?" Her voice is an octave too high, and the knowing smirk on Brittany's face just says _I know you_.

Stepping across the threshold, Brittany pauses, hand on the edge of the door and stares deep into brown orbs with a blatant sadness. "You didn't have too."

Then the door shuts.

Confused, and definitely relieved, Santana stares at her best friend's apartment.

She doesn't know what the hell she's doing anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>31<strong>**st**** December – New Year's Eve**

"So where are we going?"

Santana laces her fingers through Sophie's and tugs her further down the street, towards the quaint little restaurant _Piccolo's. _Sophie wanted to go to the uptown restaurant _Arbeggio's _– but Santana quirked an eyebrow and asked _"since when did you start shitting money?" _which of course – Sophie didn't take too kindly too.

They're not doing much tonight, just a nice meal and then off to Quinn's house for a miniature party type thing until midnight. God only knows Sophie will be drunk out her skull by then. She thinks it'll be a good time to get some Sophie-free time since her wife's constantly been on her back about _consummating their marriage_ and that it's weird they haven't done it yet. Her mind's been way outta place, so much so that she can barely remember how to get turned on by something that isn't blonde and blue eyed.

Truth be told, Santana couldn't even get her body to perform.

* * *

><p>"<em>Babe?" <em>

_Santana pulled her eyes away from the TV screen, trying to ignore the heavy pants against the underside of her jaw as Sophie nipped at her skin. "What?"_

"_You know what…" Sophie trailed her finger down between Santana's collarbones, then through the valley of her breasts and ending dangerously close to the waistband of her boxers. "…We haven't done yet?"_

_Santana had been waiting for this. She wasn't sure how long she could prolong it, and ever since she practically threw her wife off her, Sophie hadn't mentioned it. It had been nearly a week since that incident, and so far every time Sophie said she was heading for bed with a suggestive tone, Santana just made up that work was hectic and she had a few papers to do – even if she'd been watching TV for the past half hour._

"_Oh, yeah?"_

_Sophie tugged the side of her bottom lip between her teeth, nodding with dangerously glinting eyes. "Uh huh."_

"_Sophie I'm not really in the moo-"_

_The green eyed brunette slid her hand down the front of Santana's boxers, gripping her flaccid member and stroking the shaft rhythmically. She squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her head back against the headboard and trying to focus on her wife's ministrations. Wet, open mouthed kisses were pressed to her neck and she started rotating her hips to move the process along. _

_But nothing was happening._

"_Babe," Sophie whispered hoarsely into Santana's ear, "Get hard for me."_

_Santana clenched her jaw, biting back the urge to slap the hand inside her boxers away. "Mhmm…"_

_Soft fingers twisted slightly, stroking a little harder and squeezing whenever it reached the base, but no matter what Sophie was doing – nothing was happening. Blood rushed to Santana's face and she gritted her teeth – willing herself to_ not_ think of the one thing that would make her grow to her full length in seconds. Soon enough she'd have to be having sex with her wife, thrusting in and out and maintaining her hard-on, and there was no way she could handle the guilt of waking up next to her wife, the night after consummating her marriage and realising she was thinking of an entirely different woman from the one she was slamming into repeatedly. That wasn't something she could do._

__Believe it or not, Santana did have _some _morals.__

_Plus, despite rejecting it, she was pretty sure somewhere inside of her, she wasn't sure if doing anything with Sophie would be okay with Brittany… It was like she was waiting for Brittany to do it first and then it'd give her the okay signal. She felt like she needed the approval, the permission from her best friend since the shit hit the fan. Only then could she go on with whatever she could bring herself to do._

_Stupid, Santana knew._

"_What's wrong?" Sophie said a little louder than necessary into her ear, subtle frustration lacing her tone. "Come on…"_

_If it wasn't for the fact Santana was trying her hardest to imagine all the incredibly dirty things she'd done to Sophie in the past, and not on the teenage-act her and someone else had performed recently – she'd probably be embarrassed about not being able to get it up. _

_Then it clicked. That was it. That was her way of avoiding this once more._

_Sophie couldn't be mad at her if she pretended to be embarrassed, right?_

"_Fuck!" Santana cursed, her hand sliding down to grip Sophie's wrist. "Do it faster!"_

_Wide-eyed, Sophie obliged, rubbing harder and faster. About a minute later, Santana decided it was enough time and harshly tugged the hand out of her boxers, running her free hand through her hair as she stood abruptly from the bed. It was time for acting._

"_What the fuck?" She cursed, glancing down at her crotch._

_Sophie knelt on the end of the bed, "Babe, it's fine… It happens to most people at some point…"_

_Inwardly, Santana grinned to herself. Sometimes it freaked herself out how well she could act. "No! It's embarrassing!" She groaned and threw herself back onto the bed face first, burying her nose into the comforter and practically forcing irritation to emanate off her. A hand touched the small of her back and she flinched._

"_Don't," Santana said, harshly. "It doesn't fucking happen to everyone."_

_Sophie voice was soft as she moved her hand in a soothing, circular motion. "Babe, it's fine. Honestly, we can just try again tomorrow."_

_Groaning, for a completely different reason this time, she nodded against the mattress, feeling the bridge of her nose reject the pressure. Guilt panged inside her chest, but she managed to push it aside. All that was running through her brain was a miniature celebration._

_She prolonged it._

_And that was all that she cared about in that moment._

* * *

><p>They reach Piccolo's around 8pm. Because of the rush inside the restaurant, crowded tables and red-faced waiters, they have to wait at least ten minutes for their table. Despite insistent emerald eyes boring into the side of her head, pleading with her to give the maître D a tip, Santana smiles, nods and takes a seat in one of the sofa's, waiting for a seat vacancy.<p>

However the delay has also brought about spare time to think about Brittany. It's ridiculous, because she's sitting on a sofa in a nice, little Italian restaurant, with her wife on New Year's Eve, and all she can do is think about someone else.

She can't stop thinking about Brittany and Mike. No matter what happens, it's like her brains encoded and her thoughts always seem to lead into something Brittany related. Both of them are going to Quinn's tonight, Santana knows that, and the jitters in her stomach do too. Mike's probably going to be there, not knowing how lucky he is, (even though he probably does because he's a nice guy), and parading around with the most beautiful woman there. Bar Sophie of course.

Sure, Santana's happy that Brittany's found someone, but at the same time she kind of hates it. Having Brittany back after eighteen months apart is like having Christmas every day, and they pretty much spent the majority of their time together since then. But now everything's changed. Now there's some weird tension between them, as well as a boyfriend/wife hanging on their arm, and it's like they don't know how to be around each other anymore.

Christmas was without a doubt that defining chapter - Christmas Day to be precise. Santana knows that. But it doesn't make it any easier to deal with since the lack of arousal in regards to her wife have pretty much been abolished by the one stupid act that happened between her and Brittany. It wasn't even sex and now Santana can't even bring herself to sleep with her goddamn wife. Seriously, it's ridiculous! Before that happened, the prospect of even touching her wife or having Sophie sit on her lap got her all excited and hot under the collar – but now it just makes her upper lip curl and bile gurgle at the back of her tongue.

To say it's getting to the point of ridiculous, would be putting it mildly.

Since pretending to get all bothered by her inability to get it up, Sophie's only been more insistent – rubbing on her thighs dangerously high, snuggling extra close at night, _'accidently'_ brushing against Santana's crotch and not to mention the nips and licks at her neck whenever they'd delve into the rare make-out session. The make-out sessions only happened whenever Santana wanted to shut Sophie up or needed to release some pent up tension.

Sounds terrible - but that's just what Santana's fucked up mind is consisting of nowadays.

"We have your table," the maître D stands by his booth, hand clasped together and Cheshire grin pasted on his snarky face as he points towards the empty booth in the back right hand corner, "If you'd like to come with me."

Santana smiles and nods, picking Sophie's hand off her thigh and threading their fingers together as she tugs her wife through the restaurant after the maître d. The restaurant is pretty packed. The tables are closer together than usual, the chatters are booming around the room and the waiters are running around like they're on speed. Then again, if it wasn't for the crowded room, Santana wouldn't have caught her foot in the strapping of one of the bags haphazardly strew on the floor between two cramped tables, and she wouldn't have stumbled into the back of chairs – who happened to be occupied by a familiar head of blonde hair.

_Of course._

_Why wouldn't_ that blonde head of hair belong to one of the most intoxicating scents that Santana could pick out anywhere? _Why wouldn't_ the person occupying the chair she just clumsily bumped into have the most enticing crystal blue eyes that kind of makes Santana forget her own name? _Why wouldn't _the person sitting on the chair Santana's clinging onto for dear life, while she resists the urge to snap at the stupid woman who should've tucked her bag in further, be none other than the person she can't seem to get out her head.

_Why wouldn't _it be Brittany? In all of the restaurants in the tri-state area, _why wouldn't _she happen to go to the same damn restaurant Brittany's at, with Mike, whilst she's with her wife?

_That_ would just be too damn easy.

Mentally, she takes a note to kick God square in the taco if she ever meets him.

"Excuse m-"Brittany swivels in her chair with the calmest aggression in her tone, "Oh, Santana."

The sheer surprise and regret that flashes across blue eyes is enough to make Santana teeter a bit more, to make one of her hands to slip off the back off the chair and make her to stumble further. If she didn't look like bad before, now she has _falling over nothing_ to add to her application for biggest idiot alive. _Wonderful._

A cool hand presses against her forearm, fingers curling around the skin and anchoring her and almost instantly a warm one presses against the small of her back. Both of the touches combined makes her jolt away to the side – straightening up as her eyes dart from quizzical emerald to knowing blue.

"You alright, babe?" Sophie pipes up, flitting towards Santana's side and rethreading their fingers like it's a desperate attempt to show Brittany whose she is. Pissing on the bottom of Santana's pants would be a more subtle attempt at marking her territory.

"I'm fine."

Brittany studies her for what seems like the longest millisecond on earth before switching on a beaming smile; like she couldn't be happier they bumped into each other. It's only now that she takes in Brittany attire that enhances her ungodly beauty and _damn, _Santana has to look away before her mouth drops open and a little drool comes out.

Discreetly pinching her own thigh through the pocket of her jeans, she clears her throat and looks to the disregarded occupant on the other side of the table. _Mike._ "Oh, hey Chang," she narrows her own eyes. _Chang?_ What the hell was that?

"Hey, Santana."

Before an awkward silence can kick in, Brittany's eyes dart from Sophie back to Mike. "Mike, this is Sophie – Santana's wife. Sophie, this is Mike. My…" The words die off and Santana cocks a brow, sensing the hesitation in Brittany's eye.

"That's Mike," Santana squeezes Sophie's hand, smiling and nodding like she's known Mike for years, "Brittany's boyfriend." She finishes with a slightly challenging tone, her eyes boring into blue ones conversing things she can't vocalize.

Being the gentleman he is, which Santana kind of hates, Mike stands up, offering out a hand and holding back his tie with the other. "Pleasure to meet you, Sophie - I've heard a lot about you."

Sophie's body tenses as she reaches out with her free hand, grasping the Asian man's one and shaking firmly, "Please to meet you too, however," her head turns towards Santana, eyes narrowed and hard like she's offended Mike hasn't been mentioned. "I can't say the same thing about you I'm afraid."

Santana's teeth click together as she dips her head slightly, breaking all eye contact with the three people glaring at her. "They've only just started dating," Santana shrugs; pursing her lips she doesn't give a crap, "Didn't think it was worth mentioning."

She sees Brittany's body stiffen in the corner of her eye, and slowly drags her vision to meet her best friend's. Hurt flashes behind blue and Santana gulps against a thickened throat. Since when the hell did such a simple, easy introduction turn into a blood-curdling conversation? She just wants to get to her table now.

"Anyway, as lovely as this has been," Santana tries to put a small smile in her tone, but it just comes out as a scoff and suddenly Santana can imagine cutting the tension in the air with a pair of scissors. It's that damn thick. "We've gotta go get eating. It's pretty busy in here without us holding up service."

"Sure, we'll see you later guys? At Quinn's?" Mike grins, still standing as he looks to Brittany for confirmation.

"Definitely."

"Yeah…" Santana trails off, tugging insistently on Sophie's hand and trying to get away as fast as she can. This is so _not _a situation she wants to be in. "Bye."

Two goodbyes follow her own and when she gets to the table, sitting opposite her wife and feeling blue eyes boring into her temple – she wishes she'd just coughed up the extra hundred dollars and gone to _Arbeggio's._

* * *

><p>It's around 10pm when Santana flicks the lapels up on her jacket, feeling the crisp chill to the winter air and wondering where the hell all the cabs have gone.<p>

Sophie needed to head back home, so they departed after their meal – which was filled with the green eyed brunette banging on about her trip and how wonderful it was etc. And once again, Santana switched off half-way through her spaghetti and meatballs.

After about ten minutes of waiting, she manages to hail a cab and slips into the warmth of the car, muttering Quinn's address and settling back into her seat – watching New York City pass her in a blur. The lights illuminate the streets, and most of the bars are already jam packed with half-drunk hooligans wearing ridiculous 2012glasses and neon hats that probably cost around $5 and will be forgotten within a few minutes.

Usually, New Years is one of Santana's favourite times of the year – after Christmas of course – but this year it just feels like a drag. She hates everything about it right now, from the stupid amount of champagne people consume to the rowdy cheer echoing through the streets. She hates the way Times Square pops up on TV and how Ryan Seacrest's stupid face takes over the whole screen with his cosmetically whitened teeth and smirking cat face. She can only imagine the ridiculous grin that seems to spread across the city like wildfire whenever the ball's ready to drop – and it still makes her want to vomit.

Not to mention that this year seems to be the coldest yet, with clouds of oxygen rising into the air with every breath – even in this damn cab - which apparently has now pulled up outside Quinn's apartment. Santana thrusts a twenty through the small hole in the divider and hops out, pulling the coat tighter around her body to keep in the warmth. The minutes shrink quickly as she stands outside the aged building, staring up at it like it's going to do anything to quell the anxiety and anticipation swirling inside her stomach. It won't.

"You know if the wind changes your face will be stuck like that," a warm voice comes from the shadows of the porch covered entry, "And then I'd miss your smile."

Santana's heart flips as the body steps out into the light, blonde hair immediately gleaming and blue eyes sparkling. Instantly, the concerned frown disappears from her face, "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," Brittany smiles, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. "Your smile isn't that bad."

Slowly, she shakes her head, ears perking up at the sound of soft footsteps padding towards her. Within a second, Brittany's standing in front of her, hand offered out with eyes hopeful. "You coming in or what?"

Brown eyes flicker up to the illuminated window with several shadows dancing around inside. It's at an awkward angle, but she can still make out the silhouette of Rachel, hand pressed to her chest and mouth open. No doubt she'll be singing a ridiculous song to keep up the entertainment – probably with a sparkled microphone in hand. Santana's pretty sure she carries it around constantly in her bag.

On second thoughts, why is Rachel here?

"Rachel's here?"

Brittany's eyes flicker up, then back. "Yeah… Quinn invited her," her face drops and twists into a pathetic smile. "They're kind of cute."

Santana's face contorts with disgust. "Oh, God. They're not…"

"Hooking up?" Brittany crosses her arms and smiles. "No, not yet anyway. I think they're on their way, though."

They both chuckle into the night, all previous worries, tension and doubts shrinking to the corners of their mind as they just enjoy being together. Brittany grins wider as Santana giggles a little louder, and then they both break out into a full on laughing fit when the blonde lets out a snort, and slaps her hand over mouth with wide eyes like it'll take it back.

To anyone around them, they'd probably just look like two women who belonged in strait jackets back in the asylum, rocking back and forth chanting _I'm not crazy _over and over again. But it doesn't really matter because when they're like this, it's like they're in their own little world. A bubble that no-one can penetrate because they just don't care what they look like or really give a damn with what's going on around them.

It's just them in this fleeting moment, enjoying each other's company.

Santana thinks _this _is how it should be.

A stray piece of blonde hair falls over Brittany's face as she dips her head to stare at her feet, shoulders still bobbing up and down with laughter. Santana cocks her head to the side, smiling like an idiot as she tentatively reaches out, fingers grazing along defined cheekbones until they tuck the lock back behind a pink tinted ear. Brittany leans into the touch, her cheek brushing against Santana's wrist and eyes fluttering shut at the sensation which feels way too intense to be deemed platonic.

Focusing intently on holding back the sigh and keeping her eyes open, she retracts her hand, her shoulders dropping dejectedly as the sound of a cab pulling up onto the curb disturbs them. Brittany's head snaps up whilst she wrings her wrists, staring at the figure stepping out of the car. Santana doesn't even need to look around as she takes in the blondes expression, the way Brittany's eyes harden and jaws clench, the way her knuckles press against her skin to turn it deathly white and neck straightens up like reality's just kicked her in the tits.

In some ways, it kind of has.

"Hey babe," Sophie's arm wraps around Santana's waist protectively, pulling slightly so Santana can throw her arm around her wife's shoulders. "Brittany."

"Hey Sophie," Brittany's always been able to keep her emotions in check when it's needed. Santana can't believe that in high school people called the blonde dumb – she's smarter than the majority of people Santana knows. "I'll go back inside," she continues, throwing Santana a sad smile whilst her eyes flicker between the two brunettes, "See you upstairs."

"Yeah, you do that." Sophie grits her teeth and smiles a little _too_ sweetly.

Brows scrunch together as Santana looks to her wife, whilst Brittany disappears behind the glass doors and into the foyer. "What was that?" Santana asks, unlooping her arm and stepping away with narrowed eyes, "What's wrong with you?"

"Lopez!"

Santana jerks her head up, tipping slightly to lean on the balls of her feet as she peers over the top of the cab – looking towards the direction of the voice. When she finds who it is, she knows what feeling she should have – suspicion, jealously, and all that follows – but instead she just plants her feet flat to the floor disinterestedly. Sure, it's pretty strange he's here – but wherever there's a party, he's sure to be lingering around somewhere.

"Puckerman," Santana chirps, "What are you doing here?"

Puck rounds the car, throwing his arm over Santana's shoulder and pulling their bodies together in a side hug. "Met Sophie on the way and she invited me."

A perfectly shaped eyebrow rises, "Did she?"

"Yeah," Puck pulls away, smiling at Sophie and heading towards the entrance Brittany was just at. "Come on then, let's go get drunk and have some fun."

Shoving her hands into her jeans pocket for what feels like the millionth time in a week, Santana stalks inside, brushing past her wife and into the foyer with a clenched jaw. There's no way tonight's going to be any fun, but at least Puck's here to get her absolutely wasted. She always knew there had to be at least _one _redeeming quality about the guy.

But as her finger prods at the elevator button, highlighting it whilst her mind's miles away - she misses the way Puck winks at Sophie as the doors ding open and mouths _"not that kind of fun again."_

* * *

><p>Santana cracks her neck from left to right, one of her hands gripping a bottle of Budweiser and the other fiddling with a straw as she restrains the urge to bum a cigarette off the guy that keeps disappearing to the roof every five minutes and coming back smelling of stale smoke and the cold air.<p>

He smells _awesome_ right now.

The stool next to her makes a squeaking sound as a body hops onto it, one leg crossing over the other. "What's going on with you and Brittany?"

The sheer bluntness of the question makes her head snap to the left, eyes narrowing at the person Santana _least_ expected to come out with something like that. "Excuse me Berry?"

"What's going on with you two? You both look you've just witnessed someone kicking a puppy."

Santana groans, swigging the remains of her beer before pressing her forehead to the cool surface of the kitchen island, "Nothing."

"Santana…" Berry's voice is low and edging with a warning, and the urge to scoff or make a joke out of the smaller brunette claws at Santana's brain. "Come on, I'm Brittany's best friend."

"Then why don't you ask her?" Santana bites back, the words muffling into the counter.

The sound of another bottle opening slightly perks her attention, but she makes no such physical movement in acknowledgement. She's kind of hoping if she stays like this Rachel will go away – after all, she is the one who said _"Eye contact is crucial in the art of conversing, otherwise it can be taken a sign of rudeness and will drive away the other participant"_ about five minutes into their first meeting. Fingers crossed Rachel gets the hint.

A bottle bumps against the back of her knuckles and Santana only rolls her head slightly, eying up the fresh Budweiser as Rachel pours a glass of what looks like expensive Pinot Grigio, for herself. Grunting this time as a quick thanks to the other woman, Santana pushes aside the empty bottle and grabs the new one, making no such movement to even begin it.

"I tried," Rachel sighs, running her forefinger along the rim of the glass. "But she was kind of…"

Santana doesn't need to hear the _distracted with Mike _that lingers at the end of her sentence, and squeezes her eyes shut as they blur the pale green marble countertop that's way too close to her face. The unspoken words wind around her throat and she swallows heavily. She guesses this is what it feels like for Noah when he saw Allie with that Lon guy in the Notebook.

_Wait,_ did she really just think that?

"So what's going on?"

At that moment, Santana picks up her head and locks onto blue eyes staring back at her with an innate sadness. Brittany's dancing in the living room, body swaying to the music and hips moving rhythmically like she was born to dance. Well, Santana knows Brittany was definitely born to dance, ever since she first saw the blonde in her contemporary class back in middle school. Still, Santana kind of wishes Quinn didn't' have a glass wall separating the kitchen from the living room - because she can see the way Mike's hands roam all over a perfect body, fingers lingering dangerously low over the small of Brittany's bare back since the dress she's wearing dips incredibly low.

Mike can dance too, sure, but judging by the way his body moves, he's more of a music-video/hip-hop kind of dancer – instead of Brittany's _dance because it makes her feel free _(even though she's totally kick ass at most dance genres)_. _Then again, that makes sense considering Mike's a choreographer who's created all the dance sequences for artists like Ja Rule, 50 Cent, and Leo Moctezuma. And they were pretty hot videos.

It kind of makes Santana feel better that Brittany's paying zero attention to the guy grinding his pelvis into hers, his palms curving down her butt whilst he whispers something dangerously close to her ear. Sophie's over in the corner, talking to Puck and Quinn and sipping on a drink that's a disgusting shade of yellow but she only knows that because of the high pitched laugh her wife seems to have.

Santana wonders when Sophie got that damn annoying.

But she still loves her, in sickness and health and all that jazz. She's sure she does. It would just be nice to go back to being completely oblivious for her growing feelings towards Brittany and back to the time when romance existed between her and Sophie.

On second thoughts, she's not so sure she wants that.

"I'm going outside," Santana stands abruptly from the chair the moment Brittany throws her head back in laughter, suddenly focused on Mike kissing her neck and spinning her around the room with him, her feet off the floor with her body scooped up in his muscular arms.

"Do you want me to come wi-"

"No," Santana snaps at Rachel, wondering if she ever answered her question. "I mean," she shuffles, twisting the bottle in her hand and feeling the ring on her left hand scrap against the glass, "No thank you. I wanna be alone for a few minutes."

Rachel gives her a concerned smile, but shakes her head anyway, picking up her glass and heading towards Sophie, Puck and Quinn. Santana breathes in deeply, her eyes closing at the sensation of reduced jealousy course through her veins and stalks towards the door leading towards the roof – knowing the guy with the cigarettes disappeared there about three minutes ago.

* * *

><p>Turns out she needed more than one cigarette, and ending up offering the guy ten dollars to buy the rest of the pack. Slightly unwillingly, the guy called Dave, or Drew or something handed it over, taking the cash and shoving it down in his pocket. She could've headed towards the convenience store two blocks down, but that would involve explaining to Sophie where she was going and Sophie never approved of her method for stress release i.e. smoking. Nor did Brittany for that matter – something about her smelling like Mrs Henderson and refused to talk to her unless she took a shower.<p>

Of course, every time, she did and returned to a grinning Brittany.

It's been an hour that she's been standing outside in the cold, baring it because the thought of heading back inside is worse than suffering from a mild case of pneumonia and/or losing a toe to frostbite. Okay, slight exaggeration, but you get it.

She's pretty much distracted herself by watching the puffs of air come out her mouth in neat circles, a trick Puckerman taught her back in high school, underneath the bleachers when she was waiting for Brittany to get out of Cheerio practice. Those tight, red uniforms were definitely eye-catching, and not wanting to reveal her under the jean secret – she pretty much did anything to stray from staring at the short pleats flowing in the light wind and revealing the Cheerios long, muscular legs.

Including spending a lot of time with Puck; a guy who'd been trying to get into her pants for the past two years and consequently failed miserably every time. She didn't mind after the third week of smoking cigarettes under the bleachers and blowing smoke rings, though, Puck was alright, even if he was a sex-driven maniac.

"Fuck," she groans, throwing her head back and blowing a trail of smoke into the air, watching it disappear into the night sky. Trying not to think about Brittany or what happened between them, is without doubt the hardest thing she's ever done. And she's had to go through high school with people being pantsed daily and trying to hide the fact she's got guy parts – so that's saying something.

It gets to the ten minute countdown to midnight, and Santana decides to go back inside – after all, she may be a lot of things, but she's not rude, or unsociable – and staying outside is only going to make her seem that way. It doesn't matter – she's neither and doesn't want to be perceived as them – so back inside it is.

Santana enters the party, immediately brushing past the dancing bodies and random people and heads for the liquor table where she grabs a bottle of tequila. The last time she drunk this stuff was back in high school, and usually it was off the plane of Brittany's stomach because body shots was there party trick – but the thought of doing that now first of all inappropriate, and second of all pretty arousing. She wonders how the hell she ever did all that stuff without running out the room with a pillow pressed to her crotch.

_Anyway, _Rachel gives her a smile from across the room when she comes into view, and so does Quinn – but Santana silently shouts _stay there_ with her eyes because they seem pretty close and she doesn't want to ruin that. Turning back towards the kitchen, she heads there and grabs two shot glasses out the nearest cupboard. Seriously, it's ridiculous how relaxed she is in Quinn's apartment, considering this is the first time she's ever been here. Not to mention that she's never had a full on conversation with the blonde – bar the convenience store talk, but that was rudely interrupted by the fruit dwarf.

She pours out five glasses, since there's only five in there and fills them – lining up and gets ready to down them. Inside her mind it's like she's racing against herself so she downs them all in concession, too fast to feel the burn of the each single one and instead resulting in a giant one that makes her claw at the skin of her throat. She cocks her hip against the side of the table, one hand still grasping the last shot glass whilst the other braces her body. This is the first time since high school that she's ever drunk away her feelings, or not been able to cope with them so she found the resolution in a bottle of whatever she could afford/score.

"Yo, Lopez," Puck swings into the kitchen, can of beer in hand and the top half of his body swaying faster than the bottom. He's drunk. "What's cooking good looking?"

"Seriously, Noah?" Santana scoffs, "What's cooking good looking?" The alcohol must be having more effect on her than she thought because she's now throwing her head back in laughter, joking around like she used too when back in high school with Puckerman.

"Yeah, you know how I roll."

She continues to laugh, rolling her eyes whilst her hand clenches into a fist and jabs him lightly in the arm – since apparently it has a mind of its own. "You're such a loser."

Puck perks up, resting his butt against the counter as his eyes are trained on something across the room. "A loser who got laid an hour ago."

The laughter dies down, "Oh yeah? With who?" She turns back to the counter, reaching across to grab the tequila bottle and pouring a few shots out. "Puck?"

Puck's tense and no longer laughing or moving for that matter. "What?"

"I asked who?"

She downs a shot whilst Puck's brain slowly kicks back into action. "Annabelle, some chick from the bar down the road I met earlier."

"There's a bar down the road?" She's only asking because in the cab ride, she was pretty sure she mentally clocked all the available/open shops down the road – and according to her memory there was only a convenience store. But hey, she's probably wrong. "Well as long as you weren't silly and wrapped your willy."

Wow, the alcohol _must_ be getting to her.

"S'all good – chick won't do it without though," Puck takes a swig of his beer and nods. "But she's a good lay so fuck it."

Santana caps the bottle and turns her head to him. "You've slept with her more than once? Wow Puckerman, someone's getting all domestic." She's pretty sure she sees Puck tense once more, but then again, she did just make a rhyme about wearing a condom so maybe the alcohol's just getting to her.

"She's good in bed and she wants it daily, nightly and ever so rightly," he shrugs with non-chalance in his tone, "I'm only human."

Santana scoffs. "A human STD."

"Hey!" Puck straightens up, sliding his beer across the counter where it ceremoniously falls off and straight into the bin. Pretty skilled shot if Santana was honest – but if she's learnt one thing over last God knows how many years of friendship with Puckerman is not to give him any reason to get a big head. It's big enough as it his. "I keep up my checks, I'm clear."

"What? Did you bone the doctor to get her to say that too?"

Puck snarls mockingly, "Shut up. Just 'cause you ain't getting any."

Santana stiffens like his words touched a nerve. "What?"

"Jus' saying, you're more wound up than a prostitute on leave."

Santana curls her fingers around the shot glass, chucking it back and swallowing the burn. "How would you know? Soph could be giving it to me '_daily, nightly and ever so rightly.'"_

Puck nudges her in the ribs playfully. "Doubt it."

"Fuck off, Noah." Santana responds, a little more serious than she meant. But as soon as she sees Puck with a cocked brow and a knowing smirk, she doesn't regret her tone anymore. "Why? Did Soph tell you something different?"

"Nah," he replies, leaning back against the counter and bringing the beer bottle to his lips whilst his eyes roam around the room. "Just got a radar for these things."

"Whatever," she practically downs the next four shots and then moves to the fridge; grabbing a beer from out of it and clicking it open with her teeth. "I'm good. So what about you anyway? You eyeing up any of these innocent women to mark as your prey?"

Puck chuckles and Santana sips on her beer whilst moving across the kitchen towards the glass pane wall, that looks into the living room. The kitchen's on a slight elevation, about half a metre off the floor and it makes her feel like she's in a VIP booth or something, watching over the crowded floor.

"Nah, it seems only Chang's getting some tonight."

All the blood drains out her face and she's pretty sure if it wasn't for the piping hot jealousy burning through her veins and locking her muscles in place, the beer bottle in her hand would be shattering into a million pieces on the floor. Knowing Brittany and Chang might be getting it on tonight makes the bile rise into the back of her throat and gurgle around. Before now, just having the information from the horse's mouth itself that they haven't had sex has sort of calmed Santana – but the possibility is racing through her mind and makes her stomach feel like it's about to drop out her butt.

"What?" She croaks out, even though there's no way she even wants a reasoning behind that statement.

Puck sidles up beside her, resting his palm flat across the transparent surface of the wall. "Yeah, well, at least I think so. Saw her go into the bathroom about half an hour ago and she hasn't come out since."

Disgust and intense jealousy flashes through her and she jerks away from the wall, shaking her head like she's trying to shake the images and thoughts from her head. "Nah, Britt wouldn't do that."

"Why?"

"Because this is Quinn's apartment, and that's a bathroom."

Puck shrugs and widens his eyes as he spots a redhead dancing alone on the make-shift dance floor in the living room. Immediately, he heads for the door and pauses only to look back and answer Santana's question. "They were pretty steamy on the dance floor and I saw her going into the bathroom. When you gotta do shit, you gotta do shit," he shrugs like this information isn't internally crushing Santana, "I could be wrong. Go check."

And then he raises his eyebrows in a _you know I'm right_ and exits.

* * *

><p>Santana's pretty much sweating bricks when can no longer contain herself, needing to know whether Mike and Brittany are in fact <em>fucking <em>in the bathroom and heads straight for it. The distance really isn't that much, but the steps she's taking feel so small and her legs seem to be moving at such a slow pace that it just makes the bathroom door seem like the fucking Eiffel Tower.

She can hear her heart beating loudly in her ears, so loud it's practically dulling out the sound of the bass from the iPod speakers over in the corner. Apparently her saliva ducts have decided to stop functioning because she has to take a sip of her beer every two seconds to keep her mouth even the slightest bit moist, and she's pretty sure she left her calm receptors back in the kitchen because she can't think of _anything_ to try and calm her racing heart.

_Fuck,_ Santana really doesn't know why she thought confirmation of Puck's suspicions was a good idea. But now she's about two steps away from the hallway containing the bathroom, and about three metres away from the bathroom door itself – and she tells herself that it'd be idiot for her to head home and spend the rest of the night wondering whether Brittany was or wasn't doing what she thought.

So with a deep breath, and with her legs feeling like a million tonnes, she drags herself down the hallway and towards the bathroom door.

But she doesn't need to open it before her suspicions are confirmed. Hand pausing on the doorknob she hears the muffled moans and hoarse whispers coming from inside and it slaps her like a wet fish to the head.

She swallows thickly whilst her emotions burn through her body, switching from upset to jealous, to angry to numb – she doesn't know how to feel. This time was going to come, it was inevitable, and frankly, she's being ridiculous. Brittany isn't even hers. Santana's married to another woman, she has no jurisdiction over what Brittany does, she can't say who to do or who not to do. It's not her place.

But her feelings tell her different.

Suddenly something snaps in her chest and she clenches her fists, digging them into the top of her thighs as she half-runs back to the living room, eyes darting frantically in search of her wife. When she finds Sophie, her legs lead her over there so fast she barely remembers bumping into a guy and making him spill his beer down the front of his shirt, and her fingers wrap around a pale forearm.

"Hey, ba-"

"Follow. Me. Now." Santana hisses, tugging on Sophie's arm and yanking her away from whatever conversation she was in.

They reach the hallway and Santana slides past the bathroom, grimacing at the muffled sound she hears coming from it and bites her bottom lip so hard she's pretty sure it's already swelling. There are no objections from Sophie, but even if there were Santana doubts she'd be able to hear them - the beat in her ears is almost deafeningly loud and the red flashing before her eyes is clouding her judgement and vision.

Throwing the door open at the far end of the hallway, and finding an empty bedroom, she practically shoves Sophie inside and kicks the door shut - ignoring the chanting countdown coming from the living room.

Suddenly, she feels like she has permission from Brittany.

Even if she doesn't feel good about it.

* * *

><p><strong>Tell me your thoughts!<strong>


	12. chapter twelve

**To start: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR REVIEWS - it's amazing, like seriously. the amount of e-mails I woke up with in the morning brought the biggest smile to my face and it inspired me to write the next chapter sooner and post it quicker! so here you go, three days after the last one, pretty damn quick if you ask me!**

**Moving on, I am going to warn you that this chapter is pretty much a filler, and so not a lot of you will enjoy it because it doesn't have a lot of Brittana interaction in it. however, I can guarantee everything's going to spice u****p a little more in the next chapter (hehe) and I'm probably just over halfway through this fic, maybe even three quarters depending on how I feel by the end.**

**and last, but not least, I need to apologise in advance. from the beginning there have been so many people asking me not to do this, but it seemed unrealistic and I decided I had too seeing as it would be the only way this fic would work and be interesting! so I am sorry, but you win some, you lose some. that's all I have to say!**

**Anyway, to finish up, I'd just like to thank all of you so much and wish that you enjoy this chapter, seeing as it's pretty crappy.**

**Have fun!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Twelve]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>Just below 10k

* * *

><p>Santana shuffles from the end of the bed, finding her jeans on the floor before she slips into them, shrugging them up her legs and lying back until they settle low at her hips. Her fingers fumble with the button, then on to the buckle of the belt as she sits upright. It feels like a one night stand that she wants to get away from pronto, and when a hand presses to her bare back she nearly bolts.<p>

"_Hmm,_" Sophie hums from behind her, slipping her hands over Santana's shoulder as she presses open mouth kisses to her neck. "That was amazing, babe."

Consummating her marriage really wasn't supposed make her feel like this. Like she's unclean… Horrible… _Dirty._ All she wants to do is sprint home, slide into a scolding hot shower and scrub away the grubby feeling crawling over her skin. It's like when she fell into the mud pit in the playground back in middle school – and all the class laughed at her. But Brittany was there to pick her up, dust her off and wash off the dirt from her face.

This time though, Brittany isn't going to be there to pick her up. Brittany isn't going to be there to take away the awful crawling feeling that makes Santana feel like she hasn't showered in weeks. Brittany isn't going to be there to tear of the sleeve of her, wet it and then dab all the dirty granules off her face. This time, Santana's going to have to suffer.

"Totally," Santana grabs her shirt from the foot of the bed and slips into it, tugging it over her head until it's settled around her shoulders. Sophie swiftly removes her hand, allowing the shirt to fall down Santana's arms as she stands, tugging the hem so it falls down correctly. Santana takes this opportunity to create some distance between her and her wife – knowing the combined feeling of guilt and filth creeping across her skin is too much to bear if she's within arm's reach

Sophie seems oblivious to the heavy feeling inside Santana's gut and stretches her arms above her head, letting the sheet fall down and reveal her exposed chest. The urge to grimace is almost too much, so Santana quickly locates her wife's tops and basically throws it at her, the fabric landing square in the middle of Sophie's face. Widening her eyes, Santana almost thinks her game is up when the blouse slides down a pale face, revealing a quizzical stare.

"Get changed," Santana practically spits. "We better be getting back. Someone might be looking for us."

Sophie nods – apparently she's still oblivious. "Of course, babe."

Just before the green eyed brunette can stand from the bed, revealing her nakedness, Santana spins and lurches for the door, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to push the memories flashing behind her eyelids, away. "I'll meet you out there."

"Okay."

Santana slips out the door, pulling it shut behind her before leaning fully against it. She lets out a long, heavy exhale and looks down to her hands – feeling the invisible grime lurking over them. This isn't how things were supposed to happen. Sleeping with Sophie for the first time in months, combined with consummating her marriage, was supposed to be amazing – it was supposed to feel like the best thing in the world and make her feel like she's on cloud nine.

But it's done no such thing.

If anything it's done the opposite.

Taking in a deep breath, she pushes away from the door and looks down the hallway, seeing Brittany stumble out the bathroom, giggling. Bile rises in the back of her throat and anger gurgles in the pit of her stomach. There's no Mike, but she probably just missed him. When her eyes lock onto the Asian man, dancing and urging the blonde forward with his finger – the slight relief and hope she felt a second ago disappears.

It _was_ Brittany in the bathroom.

* * *

><p>It's 1am. People are starting to file out and the dance floor is thinning considerably so. Santana always thought New Year's parties were supposed to go on to early hours in the morning, not an hour after the ball dropped in Times Square.<p>

"Lopez!" She turns, it's Puck. "Where's that beautiful wife of yours?"

Santana shrugs. Ever since she slipped out the room about half an hour ago or so, she hasn't seen Sophie. She needed the space; she needed to get out of there. Getting through actually having sex was difficult enough without staying there and sitting, remembering and replaying what she'd just done.

* * *

><p><em>Sophie's back hit the wall next to the door as Santana started ravishing her neck with open mouthed kisses. There was no way Santana could do this with an emotional tie, i.e. lip kissing. Kissing on the lips was always a whole different ball game when it came to romance, sex and feelings. Having sex had always been easy; it was literally get in there and then back out again. 'Bash and Dash' as she'd heard back in high school from a few of the jocks. <em>

_Placing small kisses on necks and different body parts, that weren't facial, was alright – it was a turn on, a way of heightening the arousal. But kissing on the lips… claiming each other's tongues and sensually remembering every dip and contour of each other's mouths… That was just intense and intimate._

_So that would explain why Santana squeezed her eyes shut and attached her lips to her wife's jugular. Her teeth grazed against the skin with an intense need as her hands went straight for Sophie's dress, unzipping it and letting it pool to their feet with one quick motion. She grasped a pale waist, pushing both their bodies back towards the bed as fingers fumbled with the buckle on her belt._

_This wasn't romantic. This wasn't about feelings. This was sex. Raw, powerful sex that was being used as an outlet for pent up emotions._

_It was the one-night stand kind of sex._

"_Santana…" Sophie groaned, tilting her head to the side as she tugged down Santana's jeans. "What's got into-__**oh.**__"_

_Santana bit down roughly on the juncture between her wife's shoulder and neck. Words would probably stop her motions and jerking her hips roughly into Sophie's with certain aggression was already racing through her mind. She couldn't handle hearing her wife. That wasn't going to speed things up._

"_Come on…" That voice didn't belong to Sophie's._

_She whipped her head up so fast she was pretty sure she just concussed herself. Her whole body jerked backwards as she stared into bright blue eyes, one hand running through locks of silky blonde hair. Santana shook her head, blinking repeatedly as tried to figure out what the hell was going on._

"_Babe?"_

_When brown eyes opened, quizzical emerald orbs were gleaming back at her. Okay, now she was really confused. "Huh? What? I'm fine." It didn't even process in her mind that her wife hadn't actually asked how she was feeling._

_Pushing Sophie back roughly, she spread pale legs and slipped between them, one hand making quick work of the lace G-string whilst the other snapped off Sophie's bra with practiced skill. It was too rough, Santana knew that, but she needed to get this over and done with. Before anything… Weird, happened again. Or whatever the fuck happened a minute ago._

_Running her tongue over a pale collarbone, Santana could feel herself hardening underneath her tight boxers. Nimble fingers wrapped around her covered shaft, stroking fiercely whilst she made her own fierce movements on the slick folds beneath her. Sophie let out a small squeak as two fingers plunged into her, preparing herself. But Santana couldn't shake the feeling of how different the warmth hugging her fingers felt… and it wasn't a good different._

_Eyes flickered up, trailing the dip of a toned, pale stomach. She paused momentarily, knowing that __**that **__body didn't belong to her wife. She'd seen that torso slipping out of a red and white cheerleading top. She'd seen that stomach in hospital, where the tiny scar near her hipbone was formed after a routine Appendix operation. Those toned abs were formed from years of dancing and tumbling, and they were way too athletic to belong to Sophie._

_Brittany._

_Shutting her eyelids, fast, Santana ripped down her boxers to reveal her semi-hard cock. It bounced against the inner section of a pale thigh and slender fingers quickly wrapped around it, stroking softly. Santana's eyes widened as that feel was way too familiar and tender to be Sophie. Those fingers were too soft. Those fingers belonged to her best friend._

_Santana was pretty sure she grew at least four inches from that single memory._

_Sophie's body arched into hers as pulled back quickly to grab the condom lingering in the back of her jeans pocket. Once their bodies pushed flush against each other, Sophie's left hand toying with her left nipple as her right grasped Santana's bicep; Santana slid on the protection and lined it up in front of Sophie's entrance. Just before pushing into her wife, her eyes gravitated upwards and everything froze for the longest millisecond of her life._

_Brittany was lying beneath her, hair wild around her shoulders and eyes dark with arousal. Her lips were swollen and puffy, like they'd spent the last half hour kissing, nipping and licking at each other, and damn, that was seriously arousing. Santana blinked, but this time the image didn't go away. Her hand moved to make a slow trail up the expanse of a toned stomach, but as soon as her fingertips touched the creamy skin, it transformed into a duller shade – like the sun had just been taken off it. _

_Once more, Sophie was looking up at her._

_Quickly losing her resolve, she thrusted into her wife, earning a yelp as she buried her face deep into Sophie's neck, making sure her lips weren't touching the skin. Her hip movements were frantic and quick, like she was taking her aggression out because she could. It definitely wasn't making love, and as it progressed, it became clear that it wasn't sex either._

_Santana's eyes widened comically as she realised what she was doing. She was fucking Sophie. Doing whatever she could to make sure she came. It didn't involve kissing. Consummating her marriage wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be slow and romantic. It was supposed to emphasize the feelings they felt towards each other and they leisurely explored each other's body – tying their relationship in the last way possible._

_It wasn't supposed to be this… Sloppy._

_Squeezing her eyes shut once more, and trying __**not **__to think of the person who'd defined and outlined the differences between sex, making love and fucking, she pounded heavily – her hands grasping the sheets beside Sophie's arms which were clinging to her back. Slowly, the end was building up in the pit of her stomach, but when her name was whispered into her ear – it was like someone just injected her with a dose of arousal and she was two seconds away from coming._

"_Come for me…" Brittany whispered in a hoarse voice. "Come for me."_

_Whipping her head back with one final look, and ignoring the way nails were digging into her shoulder blades, she met bright blue eyes beaming at her and the wick inside of her reached its end. It was like something exploded inside of her, and her body quaked with the feeling of herself shooting her load into the condom. Brown eyes locked with blue as every last drop of her emptied, engulfing the tip of dick in a comfortable, yet sticky warmth. Brittany bit her bottom lip, her thighs tightening and ankles hooking around the back of Santana's legs, urging her on – which Santana only happily obliged two. She pumped her hips, drawing one leg up a little further to push her slowly softening shaft deeper, hitting a spot that made the body beneath her jerk. _

_Pleasure spiralled through her body, and she instantly felt herself hardening before she'd even finished. The thrusts were slow and drawn own, because she was too enticed in the way she was sliding in and out of Brittany's entrance and watching the way each one contorted the blonde's face. It was completely different from before… Each movement was controlled, and something floated inside of Santana like she knew she was supposed to be doing this. It just felt so right._

_She repeated the pattern for about twenty seconds, which felt like an eternity as she watched the way Brittany's mouth fell slack, nose tinged pink and brow creased as she came closer to the edge. With two caramel fingers snaking between the heated bodies, making quick work of Brittany's clit, blue eyes widened impossibly and Santana watched her best friend come undone beneath her. _

_With that, Santana came again._

_Both their bodies shook for a good minute, and Santana fell limply onto Brittany's body beneath her, fingers slowly releasing from the sheet as she slid up to find a pale hand. She quickly placed a soft kiss to the throbbing pulse point in Brittany's neck and wiggled her hips a little – feeling her member twitch as it was still covered in warmth. _

"_Wow…"_

_Santana's body stiffened, and as slowly glanced up, not really wanting to see what had happened, reality kicked his square in the face. It felt like her stomach was about to fall out her butt as she slowly withdrew herself, ignoring the way the body wrapped around herself to stop the movement. But repulsion flushed through her. _

_She felt like she'd just screwed a hobo._

"_You're so fucking good at that," Sophie muttered, panting heavily as her hand brushed against her shining forehead. "Seriously, amazing."_

_Santana rolled off and laid flat on her back, catching her breath briefly before listening to the pants next to her became too much. She ripped off the condom, threw it in the bin and shuffled down the bed._

* * *

><p>"She was in the back bedroom, but I haven't seen her since," Santana shrugs, digging her hands into her pockets and craning her neck to make sure that wasn't heard.<p>

"Why is Sophie in the back room?" Puck steps closer, eyebrow cocked and eyes inquisitive.

Santana grits her teeth, waiting the crude comment she thinks is going to come. "Drop it, Puckerman."

But he doesn't. "Come on, Lezpez, give us the deets."

Santana shakes her head, her collar getting hotter under the conversation that kind of seems like an interrogation. To try and push back the urge burning down her left arm to smack Puck in the jaw, she pinched her thigh and winces at the pain. It's better than having to explain to her wife she hit her one of her close friends because he wouldn't stop bugging her about something she didn't want to talk about.

"Leave it," she grits, stepping to the side to try and dodge the tanned guy.

"Come on, why is she in the back room? Did you finally do it?"

Santana's about to open her mouth but something cold drops in her stomach when she hears a voice pop up from beside her. In the back of her mind, the fleeting thought of how Puck knows that she hadn't consummated the marriage pops up, but it's quickly erased. The cold inside her stomach weighs about two thousand tonnes and Santana ponders momentarily where the closest dry wall is so she can put her own head through it. Or maybe she can ask someone to use her as a human punching bag. That'd probably be more enjoyable from enduring the ever-thickening lump in her throat and the way her eyes fall shut in regret.

"Why is who in the back room?"

Puck smirks as he leans against the door jam, crossing his arms, "Yeah, Lopez, who's in the back room?"

Santana breathes in deeply, swearing that a bruised fist isn't worth the painful expression on Puck's face. It would be fun, but his defined jawline would probably crack one of her knuckles. "Drop it, Noah."

"San," Brittany says, softly, alcohol evident on her breath through the drunken smile she's pulling. "What's up with you?" she asks, her hand sliding down Santana's left arm and lingering dangerously close to the pocket, "What's wrong?"

If it wasn't for way the guilt punched her in the stomach harder than Muhammad Ali, she'd probably be shivering and trying not to focus on how closer Brittany's fingers are to the crotch of her jeans. But instead, she jerks away from her best friend's touch, feeling like she's got chicken-pox and doesn't want to infect her loved ones. She feels _that _dirty.

"Nothing."

"Well that's not true now," Puck interjects, the smirk still wide on his face as he turns to Brittany. "Little Lopez here finally did the deed."

Brittany's brows furrow quickly in confusion but the grin is still there. "What deed?"

Santana gulps as her eyes flicker down. There's no way she can elaborate without breaking down. "Nothing, I didn't do anything," she throws a dangerous glare to Puck who completely ignores it.

"She did _the_ deed," Puck emphasizes the words with a wink.

She doesn't need to see it to feel it. She can feel the way for about three seconds the deciphering of Puck's words still confuses Brittany's mind. She can feel the way on the fourth second Brittany's face slowly sinks, and then on the fifth second she can feel the way the entire buzzing atmosphere drops and it's replaced with a cold, daunting realization. Despite being able to physically and emotionally feel it, Santana still glances up.

It happened exactly the way she predicted. Brittany's eyes are blank as they stare deeply into her brown ones and it's like the sober fairy just kicked the drunk one straight in the balls and threw him out the window. Puck's shifting uncomfortably from the side, eyes darting from girl to girl like he's trying to figure out what the hell he just said and Santana's wishing kicking the crap out of him would actually do anything to help the situation. It wouldn't.

"_Oh,"_ is the only word that comes out of Brittany's mouth as Santana opens hers to try and explain. "That's great. I've gotta go." She rushes off before Santana can even think to reach out and tug her back, with glossy blue eyes and a quivering bottom lip.

Remembering Puck's watching the whole interaction; she bites down the urge burning through her muscles to chase after her best friend and straightens up. Sure enough, Puck's right eyebrow is cocked and his face etched with confusion. If she were in his position she wouldn't know what the hell was going on either.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Santana responds almost robotically, tearing her eyes away from the last place she saw Brittany. Just as she steps to the side, he moves in front, blocking her path and stretching his arm out to rest it palm down on the wall.

"Didn't seem like nothing."

She doesn't even both answering him, instead replacing words with a sound of acknowledgement as she blindly swipes at his arm, hitting it at the elbow and watching him buckle against the wall. She'd probably laugh or smirk back at him if she didn't think he'd continue his interrogation, so instead she just walks towards the living room.

Santana really fucking hates herself.

* * *

><p><strong>18<strong>**th**** January**

It's been about two and a half weeks since Santana last saw Brittany. She's returned to work, hating every second she spends with Sugar Motta – a girl who yeah, seems to think she works each song like a stripper pole, therefore giving her a confidence appeal – but she's annoying as _fuck _and Santana doesn't know how long she can go without accidently, brutally slipping a dose of arsenic into her morning latte.

Practically every night since consummating their marriage, Sophie's been begging Santana to do it again – and after getting worked up to the point where she was genuinely scared for her own safety and criminal record, she gave in and pushed a pillow onto her face, muffling the quiet whimpers Sophie misinterpreted as grateful moans after she couldn't shake the image of Brittany beneath her. There was no way she could have sex with Sophie without being dominated, and ever since she's just let her wife take control.

It's basically been the only way she could endure it.

* * *

><p><strong>22<strong>**nd**** January**

After somehow pushing away the guilt, she managed to reach the reasonable side and try to look at it from her point of view. In all fairness, she is married. It was only a matter of time before the consummation was going to happen – even if she didn't feel all that great about it.

Brittany should understand that. Right?

Santana goes to bed that night with Sophie leading her; she closes her eyes as she's thrown back against the bed. When Sophie guides Santana into her, anger sparks inside her chest. She flips them, thrusts harder, deeper and quicker than usual and buries her face into the pillow as she comes.

Sophie doesn't notice the infuriated tears leaking out her wife's eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>27<strong>**th**** January**

A part of Santana wants to punch herself in the head for even thinking Brittany finding out in the way she did was okay. It wasn't fair. Brittany didn't do anything wrong and she ended up paying for Santana's actions. The sheer image of sad, betrayed blue eyes is enough to make Santana throw her beer bottle into the wall above the TV.

Tonight she'll go to bed and fall asleep before Sophie can lure her into sex she doesn't want or need.

She definitely hates herself.

* * *

><p><strong>4<strong>**th**** February**

Sophie comes home with a new phone. It's an iPhone 4, and identical to Santana's in every, even down to the New York City skyline background. She hides the urge to hiss at her wife and directs it towards herself, knowing it's the least she deserves.

Her wife slips out that night, saying something about one of her friends and breaking up with their long term wife. She returns later that night smelling of musky aftershave that Santana doesn't smell. She's too caught up watching re-runs of Sweet Valley High and reminiscing to the hours she and Brittany spent after school, cuddled up doing the same thing.

How did she not see it before? All that time they spent together with intimate touches and longing glances. It was clear from the start – why did Brittany reject her back in college?

She sends Brittany a quick text, the lack of her blonde best friend finally gets too much.

_Hey B, haven't spoken to you in a while. Hope everything's alright – S xxx_

It's exactly seven minutes and thirty six seconds later when she receives a text.

_We both know why – B xxx_

Santana breaks down, clutching her phone to her chest and shedding tears she didn't know she had. Thank God Sophie's out.

* * *

><p><strong>7<strong>**th**** February**

_I miss you, Britt. – S xxx_

_I know, San. We just need some space. – B xxx_

Gulping away the tears, and scanning the tube station to make sure no-one's leering at her or lurking over her shoulder, she wipes away a non-existent tear and types back.

_Do you miss me? – S xxx_

The train arrives and she shoves her cell back into her pocket, standing by the edge, behind the yellow line and waits for it to stop. The hair whips at her hair, flicking it across her face as she wishes she clipped it back like she was planning and breathes in deeply, feeling the frustration becoming too much.

Her life is so screwed up that even the missing hair piece is making her want to give in to the urge burning down her left arm to punch someone with everything she has. Repeatedly_._ She's always been an angry person, and it's either drinking her liver into oblivion or kicking the living crap out of someone that helps release the infuriating bubble lodging inside her throat. But right now she doesn't have the energy for either.

Things weren't supposed to happen this way. Marriage and the whole becoming a family thing was supposed to be the best thing that ever happened to her. It was supposed to be the start of a new life, with her wife, where they'd spend the first year all loved up and mushy, and then on the second year, start to plan their future together. Like how many kids they'll have, whether their picket fence will be white or a traditional pine, what their kid's names are going to be or even if a Labrador would be a better choice as a pet than a Springer Spaniel.

It wasn't supposed to wind up with her feeling bitter and resentful and like a bottle of Jack Daniels is the only way in which she can get rid of this twisting, gut ache that constantly tells her she's a bad person. It wasn't supposed to end up in her growing apart from the _only _thing that's ever stayed consistent and strong in her life. All this shit wasn't supposed to happen.

The tube pulls up at its next stop and Santana glances out the window at _Barney's, _at the same time her phone buzzes. Quickly, she digs in, pushing past a few dollar bills until she finds it and takes it out. Taking a deep breath, her finger slides across the screen and she clicks on the notification.

_More than you know – B xxx_

The doors miss her by an inch as she flies out them, heading straight for the bar.

Drinking herself to oblivion it is.

* * *

><p><strong>12<strong>**th**** February**

Santana bites her lip as she stares out into the night sky from her office. It's 10pm and she should've been home ages ago – but she knows Sophie's waiting there for her. Who knew four words could stick in your mind for so long?

_More than you know - s_o simple, yet so complex.

All these built up, confused, fucked-up, warped, conflicted (and whatever else fits with those words) feelings are slowly strangling Santana. These little texts are winding around her oxygen supply and cutting off bit by bit. It's too much for her, she can't handle it.

Truthfully, it makes her fucking angry.

How can Brittany do this to her? It was going to happen eventually; she and Brittany were never going to end up together. That was things fairy tales were made of – and Santana sure as hell knows this isn't a fucking Disney flick.

So instead, she hastily grips her iPhone, clenching it until the LCD screen switches to a luminous colour as her fingers press too hard into it and she types out a message.

_I don't know why we need space. We both knew this was going to happen. You said it yourself. I'm married. You've got a boyfriend. We're both with other people. You turned me down in college when I suggested there may be more between us. So why in the hell do I feel so bad? __**Don't **__push me away, Britt. I know you're doing it because I do the same thing when I get scared – S._

Brittany's first on her speed dial, and on the most frequently used contact, so she highlights her name and hovers. After about five minutes of staring at the damn thing, she throws her phone to the floor with no regard for its condition.

The message never reaches the sent box.

* * *

><p><strong>14<strong>**th**** February**

Valentine's Day.

Santana fucking hates Valentine's day, with all its stupid heart-shaped candy and ridiculous red and pink theme, to the awful sappy grins that lovey-dovey couples wear and the way they bounce down the street with _I'm gonna get laid _written on their foreheads.

What makes it worse is that she forgot it was Valentine's Day, and headed to work, yelling at her secretary before hastily grabbing her cup of coffee. She left Sophie in bed this morning, and glided through their apartment door before even giving her as much as a kiss goodbye. Apparently her wife isn't feeling well so she stayed home from work.

For once Santana is grateful her wife is staying home.

The moment the door shuts on her office, she bursts into tears. She doesn't even know why.

* * *

><p><strong>18<strong>**th**** February**

Running into Mike at _Frankie's Bar & Grill _is pretty unfortunate. Especially considering the blood alcohol level in her system is way too high to handle that kind of interaction, and because she's kind of having an out of work business meeting with Quinn who doesn't know much about her personal life. Despite Mike actually being a really nice guy, (which Santana fucking _hates)_, she can't help but possess this distinct dislike towards him - like he's the one to blame for her and Brittany growing apart, even though she knows he _really _isn't.

Santana's sitting at a small booth in the corner when Mike spots her. He pats his friend on the shoulder, puts his down his Budweiser and heads towards her with a friendly smile. She sucks in a breath, counts to ten and tries to picture the half confused, half shocked expression on Quinn's face if she ran off. _That _would be interesting to explain, and not exactly professional.

"Hey," Mike grins at Quinn and then Santana, "Didn't know you came here."

"It's a free country, Mike." Santana replies, throwing her arm over the back of the seat next to her and drumming her fingers against the side of her Corona. Quinn's eyes slide to her from across the table, and Santana knows it's not like her to be so hostile to someone – especially considering at New Year's there was no weird tension. Instead of meeting either of the eyes on her, she decides to stare at the ashtray in the centre of the table. It's the only thing that'll keep her from snapping.

"Sorry," Mike's eyes widen a little, darting between the women. "Quinn, right?"

Quinn pastes on a smile and turns, "Yeah, we met at New Year's."

"Yeah," Mike agrees, "You've got a lovely apartment. I hope it wasn't too much to clean up."

"Oh, no. It's fine. This one here," she pats Santana's hand clenching the glass bottle a little harder than necessary, "Helped me clear up."

"Well I do apologise for leaving so abruptly. Brittany", Santana winces as the man speaks her best friend's name, "Wasn't feeling well and she looked in a bad state so I took her home."

Santana's fingers clench tighter around her bottle, narrowed eyes still trained on the ashtray between them. He took her home. Maybe he's not the guy she thinks he is. Maybe he's just like most other assholes who just want to get into Brittany's pants a few times and then is done with her. A small smirk comes to her face and she lifts her gaze to look at Mike.

"She's lucky to have a guy like you, Mike." Quinn nods and smiles. Santana wants to slap that off the blonde's face. "Not a lot of guys would do that."

Mike dips his head and Santana wonders whether that's to hide a blush or not. "Well, I only live around three blocks from her, so it only took five minutes to get home after I dropped her at her door."

_Damn,_ there goes Santana's smirk. _Of course_ Mike is actually _that _nice. _Of course_ Brittany chose Mr. Golden Balls to date. _Of-fucking-course_ he'd act like a gentlemen, drop her at her door with a quick peck to the cheek and then head home. It would just be too nice to make Brittany date an asshole that Santana can hate.

"I've got to get back to my friends," Mike juts hit thumb behind him to a group of men by the bar, sipping on Budweiser's and all sporting ridiculously muscular figures and large smiles. She rolls her eyes. "Nice to see you again, Quinn. Bye Santana."

Santana grunts in acknowledgement, like she actually cares and waits for Quinn to mutter goodbye and him to walk away before she sits up, fingers peeling off the label on her beer bottle. It's stupid but she wishes Quinn was on _her _side – actively ignoring and being rude towards Mike like she was. Even if when she goes to bed tonight she'll regret being a douchebag to an innocent bystander who was just charming enough to sweep Brittany off her feet.

"You," Quinn raises both eyebrows and purses her lips, "You need to get a fucking grip and stop being so damn rude."

Santana jerks her head back. "You don't know anything, Fabray." She hisses, eyes never leaving the small white patches the stick label left behind. "Leave it out."

"I know enough to say you're being an ass for no good reason," Quinn leans onto her forearms. "He's a good guy."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

Santana exhales and discards the ripped label onto the booth beside her, her hand falling limply next to them. "Nothing. That's the problem."

"I'd say we're pretty good friends by now, right?"

Slowly, she looks up into expecting hazel eyes and nods. "Yeah…"

"Then you can't take it offensively when I say man the fuck up and be happy for Brittany, because _she's _happy." Quinn reasons, throwing back the rest of her beer and raising two fingers into the air as a signal for another two bottles. "And that's what you want for her, isn't it?"

Feeling like a two year old that's just been refused ice-cream on a winter's day, because let's be honest – that's _reasonable_ – Santana groans and presses her forehead to the table top and muffles into the wood, "Yeah."

"Then there you go; now finish your beer and let's get on with this 'meeting'."

"Okay."

They spend the rest of the night talking about the downfall of _Millennium _and what's lying ahead in the future. Quinn seems adamant about her music career, but also adamant about not signing with that _money-making-don't-give-a-fuck _industry. Santana understands and as Quinn continues to speak, she wonders why the hell she's still with them.

On the swaying walk home, alone, Santana still can't find an answer to that question.

* * *

><p><strong>23<strong>**th**** February**

Santana wakes up as normal and follows her daily routine – she brushes her teeth, slips on her tight boxers that hides her secret from the world and throws on a power suit, giving herself a once over in the mirror with a mascara wand and a hairbrush before heading towards the kitchen. Sophie's two seconds behind her, and about five minutes after Santana hears the hairdryer flick off, her wife joins her.

Subtly, Santana throws her phone onto the counter and glares at it – wondering if AT&T has cut off her phone again. The text _Hey Britt, how's things? – S xxx _hasn't received a reply.

It's stupid. She knows it's not AT&T. It's Brittany ignoring her. But their friendship is like concrete. They'll be fine. Eventually.

She really fucking hopes so.

Pale hands are cupping her cheeks as she spreads the butter on the toast, pulling her into a frantic kiss that contains way too much tongue for 7 o'clock in the morning. She hides the grimace by biting her bottom lip and returns to the toast, grabbing it and heading towards the door with her briefcase and keys. Throwing Sophie a quick goodbye smile at the entrance of their apartment building, and an unwanted peck on the lips, they head their separate ways.

Santana reaches the alley around the corner before the memories of last night flashing behind her lids and become too much. She wonders if vomiting in public warrants the same punishment as public urination.

It's kind of the same.

* * *

><p><strong>28<strong>**th**** February**

Santana's decided she's had enough. The blunt, wordless texts exchanged between her and Brittany have been going on for too long and frankly she's starting to get slightly fucked off with it. Snow's been falling for the last few days, a strange time for it to snow (but hey, Santana's not complaining – she always loved the snow) and she hasn't even left the apartment except for restocking the lacking alcohol cabinet underneath the sink.

But today's the day she'll talk to Brittany. Well, technically _tonight._

Hours just fly by when you're having fun, and Santana only notices it's midnight when she reaches the subway and checks the next train. Brittany's stop it only two stops away and she quickly hops onto the train, settling into the chair furthest into the corner and resting her temple against the window, watching the big apple just blur by in an instant.

She has so many things she wants to say to Brittany. So many words, lines and feelings to express that she's noted down in her memory and transformed into a large speech that she's slowly preparing herself to say. It's like when she had to give the presidential campaign speech for Brittany back in high school. Brittany lost her voice the day before her speech, and so Santana stood up and read it out for her, otherwise her best friend would be kicked out the race.

That day, she was so nervous her hands were visibly shaking seeing as she had to stand out in front of hundreds of judgemental schoolmates and read out a speech that wasn't her own – but she knew she had to do it. She had to do it for Brittany, she had to do it for herself, and so she did. Getting past the nerves was only the first step, and so instead of whimpering and worrying about it, she just got straight to it and did what she had too.

Except right now, without Brittany by her side, and with Brittany being on the receiving end of this speech, she doesn't think she can do it. She's pretty sure she only got through the presidential speech because Brittany's hand was on the small of her back, encouraging her on whilst the bluest eyes she's ever seen bore into the side of her head with a supportive gleam.

Climbing up the stoop to Brittany's apartment, she reminds herself about Mrs Henderson and that damn flower patch and resists the urge to puke. She's done this once before, she can do it again. Plus, she's pretty sure this time, the shock of Mike opening the door won't happen. Nothing can be worse than that.

Santana's eyes flicker towards the window looking into Brittany's living room to the left and then she finds the blonde. In _all_ her glory.

Inside the front room, Brittany's cleared all the belongings in the room to the side, the sofa pressing against the far wall, the arm chair next to it and the coffee table blocking the arch entrance into the kitchen. The TV is to the right of the window, and the fireplace is to the left – and it's got a kind of rustic, British them to it. Brittany was always about multi-cultural things. The African tribe mask on the wall is another reminder of that.

Smack bang in the centre of the room, balanced on one leg with the other raised high into the air and back arched, is Brittany. She's dancing in sweatpants and a baggy dance top, the curve in her muscular calf is perfectly defined as she spins slowly, keeping her neck straight and body fluid whilst her arms fly through the air with grace. There's something just so damn beautiful about Brittany dancing that it takes Santana's breath away. No-one should look _this _good when dancing, without having some Godly or Angelic descendants as relatives - or at least Ginger Rogers as a grandmother.

Santana smiles to herself and reaches out, finger hovering over the doorbell as she goes to disturb Brittany. Now is the best time, Brittany can't ever be angry after dancing. Especially at Santana.

But then something catches her eye and her face falls as she watches that _thing_ slide into the living room, gliding his hand up Brittany's top as his other arm cradles the blonde's body, supporting her as she falls back. His lips linger dangerously close to the skin of her neck and a ridiculously large grin comes across her face, followed by a short giggle. Mike spins her round, his hand raised in the air, fingers entwined with hers as they face each other, Brittany's strong leg wrapping around his waist whist his hand slides down to grab her other. A second later, she's in his arms, both legs curled around his midsection with his palms cradling her thighs.

_Yep,_ she was wrong. Something _can _be worse than Mike opening the door.

The smile on Brittany's face is so damn large and genuine that it makes Santana want to reach down her throat and rip her own heart out. Tears brim at the brink of her lids and suddenly it's like her throat's thicker than concrete. Brittany's now laughing into Mike's ear as he grins widely, and her arms loosely snake around his neck, pulling their bodies flush against one another.

Knowing there's probably people in the street behind her, Santana takes a staggering step back, and gasps for a breath that oxygen can't supply. Brittany's happy, Brittany's smiling, and Brittany's dancing. All of these things Brittany's doing are without Santana. And she looks happier than she's ever looked.

Casually, which turns out to be not very casual at all, Santana holds back the sobs and stumbles down the stoop backwards, trying not to catch her footing and land on the floor, elbows first. Grazes are _so _elementary school. She doesn't want to look away, but at the same time she _really _wants too.

It feels like when she walked in on her ex-girlfriend Annie fucking Puck on her apartment floor. She didn't want to look away, because she couldn't actually accept that this was happening - which made her feel like a complete pervert - but at the same time all she wanted to do was turn away and run, without even sparing another glance.

But this feeling is ten folded. It's like someone's clawing up the back of her throat with ragged nails, pouring galleons of bleach into her stomach, peeling her skin of at an excruciating pace and slowly pushing bamboo splinters underneath her nails. All of those torturous feelings are scraping at her emotions and tearing her down.

Her feet lead her down the street, and somehow she manages to tear her gaze away to look to where she's going right before she walks straight into a pole. _Barney's _is right around the corner, and her good friend Jack Daniels is waiting behind the bar for her.

As long as Brittany's happy she'll quell this jealous rage burning inside of her. She'll put a smile on her face and take every day as it comes, hoping that somehow she'll get passed this horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Santana knows it doesn't feel like the best thing to do, but she knows it definitely _is _for the best.

Sometimes she wishes she didn't care for Brittany as much as she does.

* * *

><p><strong>14<strong>**th**** March**

It's been over two months and a half months since she's seen Brittany. The texts have become more frequent, and there's been talk of a phone call – but no such thing has happened so far. She's kept her mouth shut and basically been in a constant bad mood every single day, but she's dealing with it. The relationship between her and Jack Daniels has become a little stronger, but he's her method. And it's not like she's an alcoholic, she just likes to take the edge off at night with a few glasses and then a beer or two.

No biggy.

Well, not until Sophie brings it up.

"How much do you drink?" Sophie asks, plopping down on the sofa with a glass of wine in hand.

Santana twists the tumbler in hand, throwing her arm across the back of the couch behind her wife. "I don't really keep count. Why?"

"Just found three bottles of Jack in the recycling."

Santana shrugs. "You don't know how long they've been there."

"The garbage gets taken out every Monday," Sophie explains, sipping her wine and putting it on the table. "It's Thursday."

She hates doing this – this explaining thing, especially to Sophie, because she hates the judgemental look Sophie wears whilst she tries to explain. It's not like Sophie can talk, only yesterday Santana found four bottles of red wine in the trash from last week. And Santana wasn't even home the majority of the time.

"I probably drink as much as you do," Santana juts her chin towards Sophie's third glass of wine, tonight. "This is only my second," she lifts her tumbler.

Green eyes narrow. "I don't drink that much."

She resists the urge to scoffs and instead retorts; "Pot calling the kettle black?" before chucking back the remains of her scotch, pushing up from the sofa and heading towards the kitchen. "Those four bottles I put out yesterday say different."

There's a bottle of Jack resting on the counter, and Santana has a desperate urge to refill her glass but the stubborn side of her wants to be right. Instead, she grabs the bottle, slides it back into its rightful place underneath the sink and grabs a can of Coke out the fridge.

It's totally worth the expression on Sophie's face when she walks back into the living room. At first it was expectant and cocky, like Sophie was about to nudge her head towards the glass and say _"see" – _but when Santana enters, Sophie's face falls and she grits her teeth together noticeably.

Screw the scotch. If Santana gets that much satisfaction from drinking coke instead, coke it is.

"You not having another glass?" Sophie scoffs, chugging her wine and grabbing the bottle beside the sofa. _Yeah,_ and she said Santana had a drinking problem.

"You apparently are," Santana quirks an eyebrow and eyes up the red wine pouring out the glass. "Kind of hypocritical?"

"It's different."

Santana almost laughs. "How?"

Sophie throws her a dangerous glare, "Because I don't drink four bottles of wine to myself."

Her mouth drops open to say something when the words kick in and she stops herself. Her brows furrow uncontrollably as she tries to figure out what the hell her wife meant. There was no way Sophie drunk four bottles with her for two reasons. One being all of last week she stayed until around 11pm at the office, purposely to avoid Sophie (but then again she can't really use that as a reason) and the second being Santana wouldn't touch red wine with a ten foot barge pole. She fucking _hates _that stuff. It's only decent when it's mixed with gravy and drizzled over a nice Sunday Roast.

"What?"

Sophie shakes her head, face flushing with guilt. "What?"

"You said you don't drink alone," Santana takes a step forward, knees bumping the arm of the sofa. "Who the hell do you drink with then?"

Rolling her eyes, Sophie pushes up from the sofa and switches on the TV. "I had some of the girls over."

"The girls?"

"Yeah, as in my friends," Sophie sits back down and tucks her legs underneath her. It's only then Santana notices where her Patriots jersey went. Anger rises in the back of her throat and she scowls. _No-one _is allowed to wear that jersey but her. That was her 15th birthday present from her Abuelo, the year before he died. What the hell does she think she's doing? She mentally notes to start _another_ argument with Sophie about that later.

"What friends?" Santana spits out the question about a millisecond after Sophie finishes her sentence.

Sophie picks up her wine once more, settling comfortably into the sofa, "Some of the girls from work."

Another thing catches her eye and this time it causes all anger to disappear from her body. Santana tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes like they're going to zoom into the darker patch of skin on Sophie's neck. Her eyebrow rises as she steps in front of the sofa to get a closer look. Obviously this spikes Sophie's quizzical side and green eyes stare up at her, neck twisting so the patch of skin disappears beneath flowing hair.

"What?"

Casually, Santana sits down, pushing down the urge to yell and scream and grabs Sophie's hand. There's no way she can take a proper look at that thing whilst arguing with her wife, so instead she goes for the calmer route. Sophie will forgive her in no time.

"I'm sorry, babe," Santana starts, ignoring the way the term of endearment almost lodges in her throat. "I've just been a bit on edge, lately."

Green eyes soften immediately. It worked. "I noticed," Sophie breathes, setting down her wine and twisting her whole body so she can throw her legs over Santana's. "It's fine, I know how hectic work must be for you."

"Yeah, it's been pretty bad."

Sophie leans in and pecks her cheek, almost revealing the grimace she's trying to hide. The dark patch of skin is only close for about a second or two, but Santana sees it perfectly. She's seen her own made hickeys before, she practically mastered the art of crafting them into the variety of different shades, and there is no way in hell the ones on Sophie's neck are hers.

Anger burns through her and she waits till Sophie pulls away before feigning a smile and rubbing her thumb over the back of pale knuckles. Questions bubble in her mouth, ready to come out like rapid-fire but there's something sad inside her of her – like she's hurt Sophie's probably cheating on her.

I'm gonna head down to Barney's for a bit," Santana bites her tongue and swallows the bile, "babe. Is that okay?"

Sophie lifts her hand and runs it across Santana's cheek, "Yeah, just don't drink too much."

The urge to laugh is seriously too much, and she bites down so hard on her tongue that she almost believed ER would have to be her next stop. She looks across the room to the clock, it's only 9pm and a Thursday, and she needs her best friend. Despite the fury burning through her, there's definitely a distinct amount of sadness and she knows only one person is going to make her feel better.

She waves to Sophie before exiting and picks up her phone. The line only rings three times before a voice comes through on the other end as she steps out her apartment building. Immediately she calms down and the feeling inside of her quells slightly. It's not the temperature drop doing that, it's the person on the end of her cell.

So she smiles to herself and breathes in deeply, readying herself for the voice she's been yearning to hear for two and a half long months. "Hey, Britt."

Brittany sucks in a deep breath down the other end and Santana can visualise the relief crossing both their faces. The next two words coming feel like an anaesthetic and she welcomes the feeling as it spreads the soft smile wider across her face.

"Hey, San."

* * *

><p><strong>leave a few comments please?<strong>


	13. chapter thirteen

**I cannot thank you guys enough for the amount of reviews I received for my last chapter. I thought it was just a filler, but apparently you guys didn't! I'm glad most of you enjoyed it, takes a little pressure off!**

**Anyway, once again, a quick update, and hopefully you'll like this one, even if it isn't _that _long…. Well, you win some you lose some, not every chapter can be good so if you don't like it then... *shrugs* my bad.**

**Have fun!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Thirteen]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>6.6k

* * *

><p>There's barely anyone at Barney's when Santana arrives. Karofsky nods at her and gives her the <em>back again?<em> look that makes her want to punch it off his face, but she just ducks her head and walks in anyway. The last thing she needs is to be barred from the only place where no-one will find her if looking. Because let's be honest, who _would _look in a back-alley bar that gives off the mugging vibe?

The stool that might as well have a 'reserved for Santana' sign on it is waiting, bum print in the soft cushion that's basically moulded around her own – and as usual, she slides onto it and flags down the bartender, who for once _isn't _Barney.

"Ketel One Martini up with a twist in a tumbler," she mutters, eyeing up the grease ball behind the bar who facially questions her choice of glass. She couldn't care, though. "No offence, but where's Barney?"

The bartender throws the rag over his shoulder and puts his left palm onto the bar top, offering out his right, "Family emergency, I'm Will."

Santana takes it and shakes, "Santana."

"Ah," Will accentuates the words by widening his mouth like something clicked mentally, "_You're _Santana Lopez."

Curious, Santana urges on, "Yeah, heard something?"

Will bends down, momentarily disappearing beneath the bar before reappearing with an ice filled tumbler and a bottle of Ketel vodka, "Nothing bad," he pours in the liquid, turning to face the back of the bar and peeling the lemon, "Barney's just told me about you."

Santana shifts forward, forearms leaning on the bar top as she arches a brow, "Like?"

"Nothing interesting," he spins around, sliding the glass so it stops in front of Santana, "He told me that depending on your expression is what I should get you to drink."

"What?"

Will smiles, "Apparently if you have _fuck off_ written on your forehead, I should get Jack from the back," he juts his thumb over his shoulder towards the whiskey on the top shelf, "If you're smiling, a Budweiser," then points towards the waiting beer resting on the back counter, "and if you're with a friend, which he said is incredibly rare, it's a tossup between Southern Comfort, lime and lemonade or Corona, and if you're either ecstatically happy or in a terrible mood, Ketel One."

Surprisingly, a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips and she nods, ducking her head to sip on her drink as she curls her fingers around the base. "Wow, he's good."

"Yeah," Will chuckles, "He taught me everything I know. I'm gonna go sort out Lager man over there," he nods towards the slouched over drunk at the corner - Richard, Santana thinks. Another regular. "Call me back over if you need me."

Santana nods appreciatively and spins the tumbler in her hand, watching the lemon peel swirl around in the clear liquid. It's not the first time she's ever ordered one of these here, but it's definitely a rarity. It kind of surprises her that Barney knows her drink order _that _well. Sure, there's not exactly hundreds of regular's in this bar, and the only women are sleazy looking, unlike Santana, but she barely ever orders anything outside Budweiser and Jack. The only time she ever ordered Southern Comfort was when she brought Quinn in here like a week ago, and that was because she was drunk and remembered Brittany ordering the same drink during their first visit.

Oh wow, even thinking Brittany's name kind of hurts.

Her right elbow is pressed to the countertop, palm cradling her cheek whilst her left hand is grasping the glass tumbler, swirling the liquid around disinterestedly. The door rings as someone enters, and Santana doesn't need to turn away, she can feel the atmosphere spike with Brittany's presence. A hand touches the small of her back, a spot that she knows _friends_ don't touch. It's not too low that it's sexual, but it's not high enough to be deemed in the friend zone. It makes sense in her head.

"Hey," Brittany whispers into her ear.

Santana sip her drink and puts the glass down, waiting until Brittany slides onto the stool next to her before she speaks, "Hey."

The blonde slowly unwraps the scarf from around her neck, and places it on the countertop, leaning forward and waiting out the silence between them. Santana breathes in deeply, feeling the throbbing hole in the centre of her chest slowly close with the presence of her best friend. When the hole first started gaping, about two days after seeing Brittany at New Year's, it was such a pain that Santana nearly keeled over, clutching her stomach and crying out – but gradually over time, it's transformed into a dull throb that aches whenever she thinks of Brittany, which turns out to be a lot more than she thought. It's become bearable with time, and now with the blonde sitting next to her, it's near non-existent.

Santana raises her glass over at Will who smiles and nods. He comes over two seconds later, and smiles at Brittany. "Evening, what can I get you?"

Brittany opens her mouth but Santana cuts in, "Lime soda with a single shot of Grey Goose."

Will grins and then turns, not even bothering to look to the blonde for confirmation. Santana ducks her head, returning her focus to the drink in hand when a sigh comes from beside her, and suddenly she's aware Brittany's smiling. A hand covers her own, the colour of their caramel and cream skin contrasting perfectly and Santana breathes out a heavy breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Hey, Santana," Brittany repeats, her words more knowing than before. It doesn't need to be vocalised that the blonde can sense the brunette's state, it's just kind of there. Best friend instinct or whatever. "It's Brittany."

Santana chuckles lightly, and it feels like she just spoke a sentence in Japanese it's that foreign. She's missed smiling and laughing. It's not like she hasn't done either, because that would just be kind of unrealistic, it's just she hasn't smiled or chuckled like _this._ And she's missed it. She's missed the _Brittany _part of her smile. The part where it's been _Brittany_ making her smile and laugh. _That_'s the smile she's been missing.

"I know, Britt," Santana slides her eyes to the right and sharply inhales when she meets gleaming blue eyes. The shade is brighter than usual, or so Santana thinks. She can't remember. It's been so long since she's looked into them that the image captured into her brain has dulled with time. "Hey."

Brittany smiles and retracts her hand just as Will slides her drink over. "So, what's up?"

Now that she's here, sitting with Brittany, with no tension surrounding them, Santana doesn't really want to bring up her wife, and the possibility of adultery. She doesn't want to start talking about the person that's pretty much been the catalyst for the fucked up tension in the first place, and she sure as hell doesn't want to do anything except sit here, enjoying her time alone with Brittany whilst it's here.

"Do we have to talk about it?" Santana says, bringing the glass to her forehead and rolling it from side to side.

Brittany twists her body, crossing one leg over the other whilst her eyes bore into Santana's temple, "Yes, because I just came out of dance class for this and there's no way in hell we're leaving here without you cheering up," she pokes at Santana's cheek, which tugs at the brunette's heart and creates a smile.

"You came out of dance class?"

Brittany sips her drink, "What are best friends for?"

They both chuckle for a whilst, the jukebox switching from some modern crap to a little James Brown in the background and Will moving around the bar, clearing up the used glasses. About five or so minutes later, Santana finally sucks it up and chucks down the rest of her drink before speaking.

"I think Sophie's cheating on me," she shakes her head, feeling that slight sadness tug at her chest. By now though, she can tell it's not for the loss of Sophie, it's for the feeling of not being good enough. The worst part is she doesn't know whether Sophie's cheating for sex, or for love – but it doesn't really matter. Either one makes Santana feel insecure.

"Don't be silly, San." Brittany brows furrow as she leans further towards her best friend, "Sophie loves you."

Santana swears she heard the words hitch in the blondes throat before the managed to escape, but she just raises her glass in Will's direction and signals for another. "I haven't exactly been the best wife, though."

A hand touches her bicep, "I'm sure you're a brilliant wife. Don't be like that."

"No," Santana tries to search her mind to find a way of explaining to Brittany _why_ she's been a bad wife without explaining the reason behind her actions. It's not like she can come out and say, _"I've been a bad wife because I'm pretty sure I like you, and you being with Mike is taking a toll on me. To the point where I have to down a bottle of Jack Daniels every night so I don't have to go to bed with images of you and him running through my mind, because I've already passed out" _because that _might _cause a little tension between them again. "I really _have_ been a shitty wife."

Brittany shakes her head and reaches out, tangling their fingers together and tugging until they're facing each other. Santana's legs open with Brittany leaning towards her between them. "If there's any chance that you haven't been a good wife, which I seriously, _highly _doubt, then it takes two to tango. Sophie's in this too, and it doesn't matter how you've been acting, because regardless, if she's cheating on you, it's _her _fault. Not yours."

Her shoulders deflate for a second, then brightens back up as she takes in the close proximity of her best friend. "But Britt…"

"No," the blonde cuts off, bringing her free hand to brush it across Santana's forehead, "I doubt she's cheating, because, honey," Brittany dips her head until their eyes meet, "Why _would_ she cheat when she's got you?"

The words shoot straight to Santana's heart and she can't help but smile like an idiot. Brittany's always had a way of cheering her up, with a pot of Ben & Jerry's or a sleepover with roasted marshmallows and hot chocolate. Then again, pretty much _anything _to do with Brittany cheers her up, as long as she's there, Santana's happy.

"Come on now," Brittany picks up her drink, "Let's get drinking."

Santana grins and picks up her own drink. She still doesn't know how she got this damn lucky to have someone like Brittany in her life.

Even if she's not sure Brittany's in the right position.

* * *

><p>By the time they've finished half a bottle of Grey Goose vodka and half a bottle of Ketel One, they're both considerably tipsy. Brittany's slipped off the chair at least four times in the past ten minutes, and Santana's almost toppled over after from laughing too much. All worries about their two month friendship break has completely slipped both their minds and it feels like regularity is slowly being restored.<p>

"Come on boozy, let's get you home," Brittany loops her arm around Santana's waist, supporting her weight even though she's equally as drunk. As Santana slides off the stool, her arm falling around the blondes shoulder to catch herself, she starts giggling for no reason. There's something so high school about what they're doing - going out and getting drunk for no apparent reason? Seriously, it feels like Senior year all over again.

Somehow they manage to stumble out the bar, tripping over chairs they swear to God weren't in front of them a second ago and into the street. Brittany's apartment is about five blocks away, and Santana's seven, so without even talking, their legs lead them in the direction of the blondes.

Santana knows that in the morning she's going to wake up with the biggest hangover, and like she had cotton for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The idea that walking home was hers, and now despite popular opinion, this fresh air isn't doing anything to quell the dizzying inside her brain and she seriously wishes she took a cab.

But Brittany's with her, and nothing else really matters.

"Brittttsss…." Santana slurs, her boots clicking on the pavement to the tune inside her head, "Do yous wants to knows somethingsssss?"

The arm around her waist tightens and she takes that as a yes, so she continues. "I's wasss wonderings…" A street light catches her eye and her mouth drops open as she stares at it. Seriously, it's so damn bright and big it looks like a massive firefly hovering in the sky. She thinks that would be pretty awesome, but at the same time pretty damn scary – a big ass bug flying around illuminating the streets… At least it would be economical?

Fingers brush against the underside of her jaw and her head snaps around to look at Brittany, who's staring at her with a drunken smile. The smile is one of those, _what the hell are you talking _about kind of ones and it just makes a bubble erupt from the back of her throat. Quickly, she slaps her hand over her mouth to conceal it, and at the same time she realises they stopped walking. When the hell did that happen?

Oh _wow,_ Santana is seriously wasted.

"Big ass bugs?" Brittany muses, wiping her hand over a stray lock of Santana's hair and pushing it back.

Santana chuckles, and bites her bottom lip as she ducks her head, "Whoops a daisy."

The blonde shakes her head, retracting her hand and joins in with the laughter, "Whoops a daisy?" she shuffles Santana's weight and then begins to walk again, "I don't think anyone's used that phrase since the sixteenth century, San."

"Wells guideth the path, dear wench," Santana slurs, attempting to crouch slightly and sweep her hand in a forward motion.

"Alright, Shakespeare," Brittany's words come out through a laugh, "Come on."

They carry on down the street until they have to turn right, and it only takes about twenty steps or so before they're standing at the bottom of Brittany's apartment's stoop. Carefully, Brittany slides until she's standing in front of Santana, hands grasping her biceps as she steps backwards up the stairs. Santana would probably question it, but she can barely see anything with her eyes drooping shut every two seconds. Alcohol usually never has the sleepy effect on her; usually it's the passing out one and/or the emotional one, but so far, tonight, she's only been laughing until her lungs hurt and reminiscing over silly moments with her best friend.

It's a nice change.

Santana slowly lifts her head as her feet move up each step. She's being so damn careful and precise, since right now she has about seven feet and she's not sure which ones are _actually _hers, that it makes her feel like a toddler learning to walk, with her mommy holding her hands. Brown eyes flicker up to lock with blue, and suddenly it's not like her head's spinning, it's like she's routed. Right now, she's seriously glad Brittany's not her mom… That would be like, incest or something.

"Why would that be incest?" Brittany asks she shuffles towards Santana, backing her up until the brunette's butt is resting firmly against the railing, shoulder slumped against the wall. With a pale hand grasping her bicep, steadying her body, Santana doesn't feel like she's drunk anymore and instead of wondering why, she just stares lazily at Brittany - who manages to make opening a door look like the most beautiful thing in the world. The words _because you're beautiful _run through her mind as an answer, but it seems her brain and vocal chords are having an argument or something because they just don't seem to be coming out.

So instead, with much struggle to kick her muscles into action, she pushes off the railing, grasping Brittany's wrist and sliding her hand down until their finger lace together, and then proceeds to move behind the blonde. Her free arm wraps around Brittany's waist, palm landing flat on her best friend's toned abs whilst her temple rests lightly (or so she thinks) in between shoulder blades.

With the door finally swinging open, Brittany murmurs something that Santana doesn't hear and places a pale hand over a caramel one, holding the brunette in position as they shuffle across the threshold and into Brittany's apartment.

The warmth is so huggable that Santana presses closer to Brittany, inhaling deeply and smiling against her best friend's back. She's missed this, this closeness, this intimacy, _so_ damn much. It's like in the past months that they've been apart, a piece of herself has been missing. But with Brittany here, normalcy is restored.

"Yay!" Santana cheers to herself, moving with Brittany's body as they move through the apartment and into the blonde's bedroom. The body vibrates underneath Santana as the darkness consumes them once more, and she pops her lips, trying to wet them and failing as the cotton effect kicks in. She's _seriously _going to be hanging out her ass tomorrow.

Clutching Brittany's hand with her own like it's her lifeline, and slowly rubbing her thumb into the dip of taut abs, Santana feels content. Well, content is probably an understatement, but she's so drunk right now that that word is pretty much the only adjective she can come up with.

"You're cute when you're drunk," Brittany whispers as she turns in Santana's arms, releasing their threaded fingers and bringing both hands to the hem of her best friend's top, pulling it down since it's ridden up from the closeness. "But you need to get into bed now, Boozy Von Drunk A Ton," she pokes at Santana's nose and then moves away.

Instantly, Santana whines at the loss of warmth pressing against her and falls forward, with no regard for _where _she's falling. Luckily, the bed is positioned directly in front of her and she face plants it, ignoring the throb as her nose hits it first. Add _sore nose _to the list of things she's going to feel in the morning.

"San," a hand presses to the small of her back and Santana twists, keeping her legs kneecaps down with her face up. The position isn't exactly comfortable, but she has _zero _energy to move. "You need to get changed."

Santana pouts and throws her arm over her face. "Don't wanna."

"San…"

"No."

With Brittany repeating her name, Santana starts giggling and reaches out, grasping the first thing she feels and tugs, bringing her best friend down on top of her. With Brittany's body pressing against her, she slides her arms around, pressing her hands to the small of Brittany's back… Which happens to be bare.

"San," Brittany says, lowly into Santana's ear, "I don't have a top on."

The words shoot straight to the apex of Santana's thighs and she feels her jeans tighten slightly. She flexes her fingers, spanning them further across Brittany's back and revels in the soft skin underneath her touch. A small groan escapes her lips, but she's too drunk to care and smiles instead, nodding and hoping Brittany can see it.

"We need to get you into bed," Brittany monotones, pushing up from the bed and slowly making work of the buckle on Santana's belt.

Santana flinches, noticing the tone and mentally notes to apologise awkwardly in the morning. "Okaysss."

Pale fingers linger dangerously close to her stiffening member as they undo her jeans, and Santana has to bite her lip and force herself _not _to buck up against them, or at least grab Brittany's hand and press it hard against her crotch – because whilst that may be all she wants to do, she has some morals. Even if the alcohol is screaming at her to _fuck the morals _and_ do whatever she wants._

With a quick arch of her back, with Brittany's help, the jeans slide off her legs and she shuffles back until her head hits the pillow. It would be _seriously _wrong if she did, but she has to physically cover up her eyes to make sure she doesn't frantically search for Brittany, especially when she _knows _the blonde's changing. There's only so much she can handle when she's drunk and her feelings are pretty conflicted.

The bed dips next to her two seconds later, and she feels the warmth of a sheet cover her body as Brittany brings it up to cover them. With her best friend beside her, the alcohol swimming around inside her veins, and the warmth tingling all over her body from a comfortable bed and multiple covers, she doesn't really know what could make her happier.

Well, apart from Brittany breaking up with Mike.

But even then she doesn't really want that. The break up would make Brittany upset, and Santana definitely doesn't want that. Even if her head screams she does. _God, _so many things she wants and doesn't want. This all could've been solved or avoided if Brittany had just accepted Santana's suggestion in college and they went out for a date. Maybe then they could've discovered this spark between them and acted on it then, instead of waiting a few years and then finding it when things were complicated.

_Fuck,_ why did Brittany reject her?

Santana doesn't know when, but somewhere between her thoughts she feels her breath even out and body sink into the depths of sleep where she can dream everything she thought about to be true.

Little does she know that her thoughts weren't internal.

Brittany heard every single one.

* * *

><p>A loud alarm going off rings wakes Santana at 8am.<p>

She groans, the stupid bell noise ringing in her ears _loudly_ and lifts her head, feeling the way her muscles and brain rejects the movement. The sunlight filters into her eyes and it feels like someone's scratching out her corneas. Why the hell didn't she shut the blinds before she went to bed?

Poking her tongue out to wet her lips, she finds something foreign lingering on the edge of her mouth and sputters. As she attempts to lift one hand, she feels a familiar warmth cover the back of it and squints. It's seriously unlike Sophie to snuggle…

"San?" A small voice comes from in front of her and brown eyes dart from side to side. _Oh,_ that's because it's _not _Sophie. "Please turn the alarm off," Brittany grumbles, twisting her head to the side to reveal the side of her face.

Her heart flips when she glances down between their bodies through narrowed eyes, and finds their fingers intertwined. Hand holding has always been a stupid love of Santana's. She looks back up to her best friend and finds the adorable sight of pale skin, tired blue eyes and perfect pink lips that look so _kissab-_

No.

Santana unlaces their fingers, which are threaded together on top of Brittany's stomach, seeing as they're _spooning, _and tugs the blonde locks away from her mouth, ignoring her previous thoughts. A mouth full of hair and cotton mouth is _not _cool. Wincing slightly, she reaches back, slapping her hand around on top of the side table until she finds the small box and pushes the button on top, ending that really annoying sound.

"Couldn't you have a normal alarm?" Santana chuckles, but regretting it immediately as it sounds like a monkey playing a tuba in her brain.

"Like what?" Brittany turns her head further, lips lingering dangerously close to Santana's jaw, "Smooth Criminal?"

"Don't diss it," Santana smiles, eyes cracking open as they adjust to the light, "I love that song. At least I wake up with a song in my head."

The blonde just chuckles and shuffles further back into Santana, obviously ignoring the fact that they're in a pretty compromising position. "I'm cold," Brittany mutters, reaching back to tug Santana's arm back around her until their fingers lace once more, resting lightly on top of the blonde's clothed stomach.

It's moments like these when Santana forgets about the ring on her finger, or the fact that there's a ridiculously lucky Asian guy walking the streets and the ability to kiss the most incredibly woman on this earth, whenever he wants.

"So I'm just your space heater, then?" Santana presses forward, her hips moulding around the curve of Brittany's ass until there's no space between them. "What a lovely way to treat your best friend."

"I have a space heater," Brittany answers, sleepily. "You're just more comfortable."

"You could use a blanket."

"But when I try to talk to my blanket it doesn't reply."

Santana buries her face into Brittany's hair and inhales deeply. _This _is what she's been missing in the past two months. _This _is what's been causing the hole in her heart to grow, day by day. _This _is what she knows she wants… Even if they both know it's not right or possible.

"Well then, may I just say I'm glad to be your personal blanket," Santana squeezes Brittany's fingers and pushes lightly on her stomach, their bare skin brushing together where both their tops have ridden up. "It's an honour."

"Damn right it is, now go back to sleep. Talk later."

The silence overtakes them and it only takes another two minutes of Santana slowly stroking Brittany's hair with the hand tucked underneath her own head, for the blonde to fall asleep. Even though she has killer hangover, and it feels like she just ate a tonne of Styrofoam, the need to keep Brittany comfortable and warm takes over and she settles down – falling asleep barely a minute after her best friend.

The last thought that passes her mind is how fucking amazing this feels.

* * *

><p>"San…"<p>

Her name stirs her awake, and slowly her body rolls over, arms flexing to feel the lack of body in her arms. Was she dreaming about spooning Brittany?

"San…" A hand dances across her stomach and she stretches, popping her bones back into place whilst adjusting to the feel of being woke up for the second time with a hangover. It was something she learnt _not _to do in college. Doing that only doubles the aching.

"Wake up." The smell of coffee wafts underneath her nose and her eyes snap open. Brittany's sitting on the side of the bed in a baggy t-shirt and panties, bare legs curled underneath her and a dangerous amount of thigh showing.

"I made coffee," the blonde grins, taking the mug away from underneath Santana's nose. "But you can't drink it unless you're awake. Well you could try but that'd be pretty difficult."

Santana groans and opens her eyes wider, "I'm awake, I'm awake," she takes the cup from her best friend, murmuring a quick thank you and sips. "And I don't think they have sleep-coffee drinkers, B."

"Well some people have sexsomnia," Brittany shrugs, "So coffee-omnia is possible."

"Sexsomnia?"

Brittany shuffles further onto the bed, legs stretching out beside Santana whilst she leans back on her arms, "Where people have sex when they're asleep, and don't know it."

"Isn't that rape?"

"Not really," Brittany grins, whilst Santana raises the mug to her lips. "Because the chances are if I straddled you whilst you were asleep, and ripped down your boxers, you'd probably wake up."

Brown eyes widen comically and the coffee sputters out her mind. Brittany starts laughing and leans over, reaching around to clap her best friend on the back with one hand, whilst the other grabs the mug and places it on the side table. Gasping for any available air, since the liquid went down the wrong pipe, Santana leans forward, her forehead pressing against her best friends shoulder as her lungs fight the battle to gain oxygen. It's not exactly working.

"Lie down," Brittany pushes at Santana's shoulder gently, guiding her down until they're both lying in each other's personal bubbles, eye to eye and an inch away from each other. One pale arm is still wrapped around her back, whilst the other arm is tucked between them, lingering underneath her chin and stroking her jugular gently like it's going to help. "My mom used to do this whenever I choked on food."

The coughing stops after a few seconds, wow, Brittany was right. Not that Santana ever doubted her, but lying down kind of seemed counterproductive – wouldn't it have squished her lungs more?

"Thank you," Santana mutters, feeling the arm around her midsection loosen slightly and instead of patting, it rubs in soothing, circular motions. "Saved my life."

Brittany cocks an eyebrow, "Bit melodramatic, San?"

"Shut up, I could've died. More than two and a half thousand people die every year from choking."

"Maybe they should have a best friend then."

Santana grins, nodding slowly. "My point, exactly."

They both delve into silence, and Santana just lies comfortably on her side, staring into her best friends eyes intensely like it's the most normal thing in the world. It does kind of feel like that, even though she's pretty sure best friends noses don't brush together as they both shuffle closer, feigning the need for warmth but really just wanted more intimacy. Brittany's the first to make the minor move, and snuggles closer, moulding their bodies together as she tucks her head beneath Santana's chin. It's almost instinctual for Santana to snuggle back, so she does, stroking her hand up and down Brittany's spine over her t-shirt whilst their legs tangle together above the sheets.

"This is nice," Brittany mumbles.

Santana hums in agreement and settles into the warmth and the moment, knowing it's fleeting but wanting it not to be. "I know."

"Can I ask you something?"

Perfectly shaped brows scrunch together, "Yeah…"

"Are you mad at me?"

She brings her head back so fast she's pretty sure her head was momentarily suspended from her neck. Brittany jerks slightly at the movement, her hands clasping together and moving to rest just below Santana's collarbone before her chin perches on top. Her blue eyes are inquisitive and curious at the same, but something behind them makes Santana think that maybe it wasn't because of her reaction.

"No," Santana says lowly, ducking her chin to her chest so she can look down to her best friend, who is apparently only inches away. "Why would you ask that?"

Brittany blinks slowly, pinching her lip at the side slightly like she's not sure how to phrase what she's wanting to say. "It's just…" she starts, shuffling until she's practically on top of Santana, "Last night, you said something, and I…I…"

The trailing off is really not want she wants to her. Her heart beat is already deafeningly loud in her ears, and she's done a pretty good job of trying to keep it steady considering Brittany's resting literally above him. She turns her head, mouthing opening to say something, even though she hasn't quite figured out what that is. Panic seeps through her body and she racks her mind, trying to find anything that was said last night that may have brought on this question. Honestly, she's not actually mad at Brittany, she's just upset. But God knows what alcohol does to her.

"Brittany…" Santana tests, her hand moving from the blonde's spine to her jaw, stroking lightly before picking up her chin, "What is it?"

"Are you mad that I said I didn't think it was a good idea," Brittany gulps, eyes darting around the room and focusing on everything that _isn't _Santana. It's one of her ways to say _I'm nervous as hell _without actually vocalising it. "I mean…" the words die off again and any idea that Santana had has now shot out her mind. She kind of just wants Brittany to get on and say it. "I feel like I need to apologise for something, and I don't know how."

Santana pauses, pursing her lips as her fingers linger up to brush a lock of blonde hair behind her best friend's ear. "Apologise for what, Britt?" Blue eyes well up and immediately Santana rolls, hovering of Brittany on her left forearm whilst the thumb of her other rubs the non-existent tears off pale cheeks. "Britt, why are you crying?"

Brittany sucks in a deep breath and blinks away the tears, leaning into the touch as Santana wipes away the lone tear that escapes her eye. Brown eyes linger over high cheekbones, cat like eyes and then fair eyebrows which are scrunched together, forming a crease on her forehead. With every breath Brittany takes in, Santana breathes out and their bodies pull closer together, despite their already close proximity

It takes everything the brunette has not to nudge her nose against her best friend's cheek and press their lips together. But it seems Brittany doesn't' have the same concerns, because nimble fingers are toying with the neckline of Santana's shirt, trailing back and forth along the seam whilst her eyes bore into brown.

"You're my best friend," Santana whispers, like it's going to do anything to alleviate this magnetic pull between them.

A small quick tugs at the edge of Brittany's lips, "Ditto," she grins.

Santana's all too aware of the minimising space between them, eyes flicking from lips to eyes, back down to lips and repeating the process. She tries to deny what's happening, but the static air around them is too much to ignore. One quick dip and she'd taste the most potent, delicious flavour she's ever encountered, finally fulfilling the itching urge that Sophie's lips haven't managed too.

_God, _it's like she's recovering drug addict and Brittany's kisses are the drugs. She _needs _them.

The moment hits fast forward when Brittany's hand curls around the back of her neck, pulling her down until their foreheads meet. Santana sucks in a sharp breath, seeing the intent linger behind blue eyes but knowing that neither one of them know how to approach it, despite the obvious want coming from both of them. It's like Joe Frazier just socked her one in the sternum and she doesn't know how to breathe again. This is definitely a terrible idea, but it feels so damn right that she doesn't want to say anything.

She can feel everything between them. How their breath mingles together between them, how Brittany's fingers are sliding up the side of her face and running over her brow, how her body is pressing into Brittany's from above, hips fitting together like puzzles and definitely how their heart beats are pounding to the same rhythm.

If their lips touch again, there's no way she could endure the after effects, _again._ Two months without Brittany has been more torturous than two years in the company of Rachel Berry and a box full of Streisand albums.

It's like Brittany can read her mind, because whilst their shaky breaths are trading between, a pale hand slides down from her temple to cup her cheek, steadying her trembling face.

"We really shouldn't…" Santana mumbles, images of hurting Brittany flashing through her mind again whilst the cool palm pressed to her face feels like it's on fire.

"No…" Brittany breathes, running her tongue slowly over her bottom lip, "We really shouldn't…"

"But we're going too," Santana gulps, eyes flicking between each sparkling, blue orb. "Aren't we?"

It's not really a question, it's more of a suggestive statement, but Brittany still nods and leans up until their lips are ghosting over each other, taste buds static with need.

"We are…"

And then it happens.

* * *

><p><strong>Review please?<strong>


	14. chapter fourteen

**Holy shit guys, seriously, the amount of reviews I'm getting are insane! I'm used to like ten or under, and I got over fifty for this update! It's crazyyyy!**

**Well as you may know, has been having connection problems or whatever, and so I actually had this finished yesterday, but it wouldn't let me upload it! I apologise for that but there's not much I can do. ****When this happens, I do write about it on my fic blog which is _justsomebrittanagleek _and then the usual tumblr URL at the end, and so if you want to find updates, spoilers, teasers or ask questions, just visit there!**

**But yeah, I hope you enjoy this and you guys are awesome with your feedback!**

**Have fun!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Fourteen]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>10.6k

* * *

><p><em>And then it happens <em>turns out to be Brittany's cell ringing a millisecond before their lips brush against one another. Santana tenses, turns her head and narrows her eyes at the buzzing phone on the side table whilst trying to ignore the way Brittany's forehead leans against her temple, lips and breaths brushing her jawline.

The moment is over, and Brittany's back to having a boyfriend, and Santana's back to being married.

"You should get that," Santana monotones as she rolls off, throwing her legs over the side of the bed furthest away from the stupid cell and hangs her head between her legs.

She hears a rustling of sheets from behind her and then a small _"hello?"_ It feels like someone just reached down her throat, grabbed her heart forcefully and tore it out, grinning as they jump and down on it. Definitely feels awesome. Her jeans are lying haphazardly on the floor, belt buckle gleaming in the sunlight still filtering through the half-open blinds, and she makes the quick decision to get the hell out of there.

"I'm fine, Mikey." She hears Brittany say as she dips, swiping up her jeans and slipping them over her feet.

"Right now?" Brittany continues and Santana can feel blue eyes eyes boring into the back of her skull. "I'm, kind of busy."

Santana stands, pulling the jeans further up her legs until she can button it up and buckle up her belt. She lets out a sigh, shakes her head and then heads towards the door.

"Mike, wait a second," Brittany says from behind, "Santana?"

Santana pauses, leans against the door jam and doesn't even bother turning around. "What?" It's not said bluntly, or rudely, it's said through an exhale and makes Santana squeeze her eyes shut, wishing her vulnerability wasn't so obvious to Brittany.

Silence only answers her, and she just knows Brittany's waiting for her to turn around. The majority of her brain is protesting, telling her to stop plucking at the hem of her top and get the hell out of there, _fast. _But her heart's saying different. It's whispering that she needs to turn back. She needs to face this once and for all and to stop purposely causing herself harm. And even though consciously, it's not what she wants to do, her heart seems to push away the brain and wills her body to twist to face her best friend.

Brittany's sitting with her back pressed up against the headboard, legs bent and tucked near her chest with her arms locked between them. In between clasped hands is the cell, the speaker covered by a pale left hand and other pressing over the back to ensure Mike can't hear down the other end. Her blue eyes are pleading, silently begging Santana to stay with words she can't vocalise, for more reasons than her boyfriend being down the line.

"I have to go," Santana says quietly, glancing towards the phone and then back up to blue eyes.

Brittany's face scrunches half with disbelief, half with hurt. "You have to go," she repeats.

"I have too…" Santana pauses, turning to face the door jamb as she presses her forehead against the wood, _hard_. "I have somewhere to be," she corrects, turning her back once more.

Somewhere to be means anywhere else but here, and the sudden silence confirms that Brittany knows that too. Heat rushes to the back of her eyelids and she clenches her jaw, restraining the tears before they can gloss over her eyes. If she doesn't leave now, then she knows she won't. So without another glance back, she reaches for the doorknob.

"Bye, Brittany." Santana pulls the door closed as she steps across the threshold and into the hallway. Only a few steps later she's out into the street and speed walking around the corner, forcing her muscles forward and not backwards.

She guesses some things just aren't meant to be.

* * *

><p>Santana slips the key into the door, and pauses. What the hell is she going to say about her whereabouts last night? Before she can conjure up a lie, shuffling comes from the other side and Sophie pulls open the door, eyes widening at the sight of her wife before her.<p>

"Jesus, babe," Sophie presses her palm to her chest, dramatically. "You scared the crap outta me."

Santana forces a light chuckle and steps into the apartment, dropping her keys and cell by the side table. Damn, even acting is painful. "Sorry, the key got stuck."

"That's cool," Sophie glances at her reflection in the mirror, pouting and buffing up her fringe before grabbing her keys and one of the cells from the side table. "I'm going out."

Her mind is too caught up with thoughts of Brittany to even say anything in response, so she just grunts in acknowledgement and heads for the couch. Sophie applies a quick layer of that disgusting passion fruit flavour lip-gloss that Santana hates, puckers her lips and winks at her reflection before walking towards Santana and leaning over the back of the couch.

"Kay?"

Santana nods and kicks off her shoes. "Okay," she mutters, settling back into the cushions and relaxes, well, tries to at least – but fails as repeats of recent memories flash behind her eyelids like a stupid movie. Lips brush against her own and she cracks open an eye, seeing a smiling Sophie looking down at her with a strange glint to her emerald eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Sophie chirps, a little too high _not _to be suspicious, and returns to the front door. "Oh, by the way," she opens the door and throws Santana a look over her shoulder, "Gerry called and he needs you in at one, something about Spice or Sour or whatever and a recording session."

Santana grunts and rolls her eyes. The last thing she needs is to babysit Sugar fucking Motta in a stupid recording studio, listening to the same, ridiculous cover of Big Spender that she knows is just going to be on the iTunes list of 'world's worst artists', next to those fucking awful Irish twins, Jedward or Jerkwood whatever the fuck they're called.

"Okay," she breathes, pushing up from the sofa to head for the shower. "See you later."

"Bye, babe," Sophie sing-songs as disappears and shuts the door, leaving Santana on her own.

Four minutes later, Santana's sitting on the shower floor, her tears blending in with the water cascading from the shower head as she lets her emotions out.

She missed the two empty red wine glasses in the dishwasher.

* * *

><p>It's 12:58 when Santana makes it to the recording studio. Luckily, Millennium has enough money to provide their artists with their own personal studios without having to rent out some crappy, half-functional ones with fat, greasy men staring through the Perspex glass as a particularly large note enhances the female artist's breast sizes. Even if they do actually have to pay $700 an hour to hire this <em>specific <em>studio, per Sugar's requests. _Picky bitch._

"Lopez!" Gerry claps her on the back when she opens the door to the studio, "Good timing."

She nods, "Yeah, taxi was pretty fast." Her mind's so confused that she doesn't even know why she felt the need to say that. She glides past her box, shrugging off her blazer and places it over the back of the chair nearest the mixing console before taking a seat. A quick glance over her shoulder and she sees Gerry sitting about a metre behind her, holding on a champagne flute whilst some ass-licking intern pours him a glass. Jesus, if she didn't hate her job before enough, now she does. Gerry's blatantly only in it for the money, which apparently he spends like nobody's business.

Who the hell drinks champagne at one o'clock in the afternoon? He's such an asshole.

Sugar strides in about five minutes later wearing a fluff leopard print jacket, exotic bandana tied around the base of her hair and skin tight leather pants. Hanging on her arm is a neon pink handbag with various glistening objects hanging off the side. What is with fashion these days? Santana bites down on her tongue, restraining the urge to laugh. Sugar looks fucking ridiculous, especially when she flicks her hair and chucks her head back in probably what Santana assumes is supposed to be a cute giggle. It's not.

_Fuck,_ even the clients are assholes.

"Sugar, you're late," Gerry announces, sipping loudly on his champagne. Santana clenches the arms of the chair tighter, pushing down the anger biting in her chest. Hitting her boss would probably be counterproductive. "Now hurry up and get in the studio."

After about three minutes of faffing about and doing fuck all, she flutters her eyelashes towards several of the interns dotted around the room and enters the recording studio. A large, golden chain with Motta hanging off it lingers around her sternum, and no doubt it's probably _real _gold.

Santana's having a hard time finding _anything _she doesn't dislike about Millennium.

She presses the red button that leads to the speakers inside the recording studio and leans in, saying into the microphone, "Let's get started Sugar. You've only two hours in here."

"I have however long I want," Sugar announces, straightening up and rubbing her jugular since that's her version of 'warming up'. "You work for me."

Santana releases the button, curls her fingers on her left hand around the arm of the chair and pinches the bridge of her nose with the other. It's gonna be a long day.

* * *

><p>About four hours later, Santana's pretty sure she's going to kill someone. Sugar's been singing the wrong lyrics for about three hours, claiming that Shirley Bassey's lyrics sucked, and hasn't stopped complaining about the temperature change inside the recording studio. Even though the thermostat's remained exactly the same and has done for the past three weeks.<p>

She's pretty sure there's no intelligent life in this room.

"_Hey big spender…" _Sugar sings into the microphone, holding one headphone with her hand and raising the other up into the air, _"Spend some Sugar time with me…"_

Santana clenches her jaw. This is the thirty second time Sugar's tried to replace the original lyrics with her own. She leans forward, pressing the red button and pausing the recording. Gerry shuffles behind her, still talking aimlessly to a flirt in a way-too-short-skirt that seems to be 'picking up her pen' every two seconds. Always the way to go, stupid intern slut fucking her skinny ass to the top. Santana rolls her eyes, some people actually _worked _for their success.

"Stop," Santana half-yells, waving her free hand in the air just to ensure Sugar stops singing. The fear that her ears were bleeding has only ten folded in the last few hours. "What the hell is that?"

Sugar cocks her hip and purses her lips. _Good, _she's pissed off too. "I'm working this strong like a stripper pole, Santana. And I think you'll find I'm trying to add my own flavour to make it Sugarlicious."

Santana squints with disbelief. "Sugarlicious?" she repeats, finding this whole situation incredulous.

"Yah," Sugar flicks her hair over her right shoulder, "Duh. It's my thing."

With one of her free fingers, Santana flicks on the lock switch that enables the speakers to remain constantly on and digs her curled fists into her eyes – trying to pushing away the irritating urge scratching behind her eyes to scream and shout.

"No, Sugar." She muffles through her wrists, "Just keep to what we planned."

Gerry sits up, rudely dismissing the slutty intern and trains his eyes on Sugar with a wide grin. "No, that's good Sugar. You're doing an amazing job and this whole Sugarlicious thing is fantastic," he settles back into his chair, waving the barely dressed intern over and smirking when she jumps to his side, running her nimble fingers through his balding head of hair.

Santana groans and runs her fingers through her own hair, tugging at the bottom like it's going to minimise the fury bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Up until now, she's been at the end of her tether. Only hanging on because she thought it's what would be best for her and Sophie. But all she cares about right now is herself. It's selfish, she knows, but running through her mind, trying to find a reason to stay, she comes up blank. Sugar's glaring at her with a smirk; Gerry's not even giving a shit and paying her money for a job he's taking over, and only actually staying in this industry because of the cash that comes with it.

This shit isn't what she signed up for. _Fuck this._

"This is a ridiculous idea," Santana says, firmly, standing from her chair and smiling to herself. "She's ridiculous, this edited song is ridiculous, all of this is just fucking ridiculous."

Gerry straightens up, clasping his hands together on his beer belly. "We already talked about this," he says, referring to the conversation they had before her wedding.

Santana smiles to herself and sucks in her lips, "Yeah," she agrees, grabbing her coat and folding it neatly over her arm, patting it to smooth out the creases. "We did."

With a certain lightness replacing the heavy feeling on her chest, she looks around the room and scoffs quietly, wondering why the hell she even stayed here in the first place. There hasn't been a reason to be here in a long time. There's been no point for as long as she can remember.

Just as she reaches the door, inwardly smirking at the shocked expressions the several interns are giving her for standing up to Gerry, and opens it. Only when one foot is across the threshold that said boss speaks.

"What are you doing?"

Santana pauses and turns back, much like she did this morning with Brittany. "I'm done."

And then she leaves.

* * *

><p>Okay, now that she's standing outside her office, maybe quitting her job on the spot wasn't the wisest idea she's ever made, but she's certain it's the smartest. With cell in hand, she lifts her arm into the air and calls up a cab. Only about three seconds later, a car pulls up and Santana climbs in, murmuring <em>"Central Park" <em>as she shuts the door. The car pulls away from the curb and Santana looks to her phone. She knows who she _should _call, but she knows who she _wants _to call.

Deciding she doesn't actually give a shit, one of her fingers press down on the side button and she brings the cell to her mouth. It's a cool little function she discovered on one of her drunken nights, voice calling – which actually came in handy considering she couldn't see straight to even unlock the damn iPhone. She swears Steve Job added it for drunks.

"Brittany Pierce," Santana mutters into the speaker.

The phone gurgles back, _"not recognised" _in an automated voice, so Santana tries again. "Brittany," she speaks louder, "Pierce."

Once again, the phone repeats the same robotic response and the fingers curled around the cell tighten that little more. Trying again, and receiving the same thing, she grits her teeth and punches the centre button, illuminating the screen. Entering the pin quickly, a floral background comes up and Santana jerks backwards. This isn't her phone.

_Fuck, _Sophie must have picked up the wrong one.

Luckily, she knows Brittany's number off by heart and quickly types it in, bringing it to her ear and biting her lip. On the third ring, a heavenly voice comes from down the other end and Santana smiles instantly – the nerves she was feeling from before completely erasing from her chest.

"_Santana?" _

"Hey," Santana settles back into the back seat of the cab, propping one foot up against the back of the passenger seat. "I need you to meet me at Central Park."

"_Okay… Is everything alright?"_

The corners of her mouth turn up; it's pretty hard not too with the concern in Brittany's tone. It makes Santana feel loved, even after their 'situation' earlier. Pathetic, she knows. "Yeah, can you then please? Meet me?"

"_Sure, San. See you there in ten?"_

"Yeah, see ya Britt."

"_Bye."_

The line dies and Santana brings the cell away from her ear, eyes trained on the screen flashing Brittany's number until it disappears into a black shade. The back of her head hits the seat as she shuts her eyes and the cab slows to a red light. This morning was definitely something to feel nervous about. She shouldn't have asked to meet up. It's only going to end up in a conversation she doesn't want to have, even though it should happen because otherwise it'll just be swept underneath the already mountain high rug.

"Troubles with Sophie?"

Santana's eyes snap open, brows furrowing as she glances towards the driver. Slowly, she shifts forward, butt moving to the edge of the seat as she leans over and identifies said person.

"Fabray?" Santana asks, incredulously. "What the hell are you doing driving a cab?"

Quinn smiles and shrugs, "It's one of my jobs. Can't pay rent with a few gigs every month."

"So you're a cab driver?"

"Seems it. What you doing anyway? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

The car pulls away once more, New York City traffic blurring past outside the windows. "Yeah," Santana sighs and wraps her arms around the front passenger seat, resting her chin on the shoulder of it. "But I quit."

"At last," the blonde says, "Who did it? Your asshole boss or Sugar fucking Motta?"

Santana raises an eyebrow. "Both. How do you know Sugar?"

"She was going to take my place at that gig where we met," Quinn explains, cornering into 5th avenue. "But Taylor, the organizer, said she had the voice of a wailing cat and she cried before 'honourably' giving away her spot to me. Despite it being _my _spot anyway."

Santana chuckles, as much as she can with her jaw clamped shut from where it's resting. "Sounds like her."

"Yeah, difficult bitch."

A hum of acknowledgement comes from her throat as they pull up to a taxi rank, right outside Central Park. She purses her lips, frowning and thinks about the blonde driver. They're both out of a job, sure, and Santana now has the opportunity to do what she wants, _when _she wants. Even though spending the next few years sponging off her bank account, she has a feeling Sophie would insist on doing the same thing, and despite being her wife, Santana really doesn't want her money evaporating with mounds of handbags and shoes. A few fine 18 year old scotches sound a lot more appealing.

"Hey," Santana starts, "I have a proposition for you."

Quinn turns in her seat, quizzical and seeming interesting. "Yeah?"

"Is it cool if I give you a call, tonight? Britt's waiting for me," she jerks her head towards the park.

"Sure, see ya Santana."

Santana climbs out the car and throws Quinn a fifty, murmuring a quick change before stalking off towards their bench. Well, technically it's not actually theirs. They didn't build it, or even donate some money to 'adopt' it or whatever – the only claim they have on it are the small B+S scratched into the front right leg of it. They were fifteen when they did that - seems older than people who usually scratch things into woods, but it seemed right at the time.

Just as expected, when Santana walks across the piece of grass that they spent many summer nights lying on as they gazed up at the stars, Brittany's sitting there on the bench, one foot on the seat with the other dangling onto the floor as blue eyes stare off into the distance. There's something so brilliantly beautiful about her that it makes Santana's breath catch in their throat whenever they've spent time apart – whether that's an hour or a day.

After Brittany moved back to New York, it's like whenever they're apart, it feels like forever. Every second feels like a minute and every minute seems like an hour. Butterflies sprout inside of Santana's stomach whenever she sees the blonde, and she used to believe that was normal for best friends to have that kind of reaction – but recent events have made her think differently.

But she's not here to talk about that. She's specifically hoping to _avoid _that.

Brittany's head turns slowly, rotating on her spine like the world on its axis, and then their eyes meet. "Hi," the blonde mouths, seeing as they're too far away to hear each other without shouting.

"Hey," Santana mouths back, pausing at the pit path when a cyclist zooms by, almost clipping her stomach, "Fucker."

Brittany giggles and it's like everything awkward between them never happened. "Watch out," Brittany says when she gets closer, "Death by cyclist isn't exactly an honourable death."

"I was distracted," Santana blurts out before she can stop herself. Her eyes widen slightly and only a few words run through her mind. "There was a bee."

"A bee?" Brittany says skeptically, eyes disbelieving.

"A bee."

She takes a seat when Brittany brings her leg closer to herself, making room. Santana smoothes down her dress pants and rests one arm along the length of the back, settling into the bench even though for the past years it's been just as uncomfortable as it is now.

"So what's up?" Brittany squints against the sunlight whilst hands run through the ends of Santana's hair, "You sounded kind of panicked on the phone?"

She tries not to close her eyes at the sensation of fingers running through her hair and takes in a depth breath. "I left Millennium." The hand pauses mid-way through her hair, and a disapproving grunt threatens to bubble from her lips.

"You've left?"

"Yeah. I just walked away from it all," she looks into the distance, wondering whether or not she's regretting it.

"So what you gonna do now?" Brittany says as she resumes running her fingers through her hair.

Santana loves that about Brittany. No judgements, no yelling, nothing. It's one of the first reasons why she knew the blonde was her best friend, and would be until the end of time. Brittany's always been supportive, never questioned her about things that should be questioned. Trust, she thinks. That's the reasoning behind it. Brittany trusts Santana, her actions and knows that behind everything she does, there's definitely a lot of thought.

"I was thinking," Santana twists her body, shuffling closer to her best friend, "about starting my own label." It's been one of thoughts for a while, and up until now the opportunity has never risen so she can grab it. There's nothing holding her back now, and with Brittany grinning at her, it makes her feel like anything's possible. "Like, make music _I _want to make, because I love it and not because I want to buy a huge house in the suburbs. I'll bring in artists, and make them partners and friends, not clients and money-makers." She like she needs to hear the okay to reassure herself, and looks to Brittany whilst biting her lip in anticipation and asking, "What do you think?"

The smile on Brittany's face is so big that Santana's almost afraid it'll break her perfect face. Blue eyes sparkle with excitement, and all her teeth are on show whilst she nods in approval. "I think that's amazing, San."

Dark brows shoot up, "For real?"

"Yeah," the blonde says through a laugh, her hand gliding through the air until it lands on top of Santana's. "That's amazing."

It feels like her skin is on fire from where Brittany's thumb is rubbing softly, and her eyes lock onto the contrast whilst an unexpected sigh comes out. Luckily, the laughter is loud enough to cover it, so it's all good.

"I can already see us at the Grammy's," Brittany continues, nodding and grinning whilst attempting to paint an invisible picture with her free hand. "Sitting next to Jay-Z and Beyoncé."

"I like how that sounds," Santana grins. "The Grammy's… Yeah."

"But, wait," Brittany pauses, brows scrunching together as she lifts her left leg to hook it over Santana's right, keeping their clasped hands on her lap. "How are you gonna pay for it? Have you got the money?"

All the excitement and happiness completely disappears from her chest as she thinks of an answer. Sure, she has money saved up, and could live off it comfortably for a while, but she has to consider the fact that she's going to unemployed – and there's no way a brand new music label will make a profit for a few years. _Shit, _apparently this plan wasn't as thought out as she first planned.

"I've got a little something saved." Her eyes narrow as she tries to think of other things. There's no way Sophie would leave her alone if she used every dollar inside the bank. "I can find other sources. I got some connections from Millennium, so yeah."

She waves her hand, and looks off into the distance whilst Brittany shuffles beside her, wondering how the hell she's actually going to do this thing. It's not like she hasn't put thought into it, but now she's _properly _thinking about it and _God, _there's so many factors she hasn't considered yet.

"I'm not going to stress about it though," Brittany retracts her hand, whilst she continues, "I just want to enjoy this and not worry about that type of shit just yet." Santana's pretty sure she's rambling, and not even in the conversation directed towards Brittany. She's talking to herself, how rude. "I have an artist, and I'll focus on-"

Brittany brings her hand up and cups it over Santana's mouth, stopping the rambling. "Santana, shut up," she says through an excited smile. It's one of her five smiles - the five 'Brittany smiles' that Santana's known to love over the past years because they're part of her best friend.

"What are you doing?" comes out from Santana's mouth, but it sounds more like, _"Mat raw oop toin?"_

"Here's your first source," Brittany takes away her hand and opens Santana's fingers, placing a piece of paper in her palm and closing her fingers around it. Pale hands linger on top in a comfortable manner. "And don't argue with me."

Santana's eyes widen and her mouth drops into an 'o' shape. Written on the piece of paper, which is actually a cheque, has the numbers five and three zero's scribbled onto it with BSP signed just below. "Britt…" the words fail to come out as she gulps, "Britt," she looks up, "I can't take th-"

"I said," Brittany smiles softly but the words are hard, "don't argue. I've got some money saved up from the dance studio, and from years of living on a strict diet that pretty much limits everything good, but helps me dance. So please?"

"I don't want it, Britt. I'm not taking that from you," Santana tries to open her fingers but as always, the surprising strength the blondes always possessed comes through once again. "Seriously, I don't want it."

"San," Brittany's voice is so soft that the corners of Santana's mouth turn, head tilting to look deeply into blue, "So stop being a stubborn ass and take it."

After about ten seconds of wondering whether or not to argue with her best friend, she lets her body slump in defeat and grins. "Thanks, Britt."

"It's my pleasure, San." Brittany sucks in her lips and smiles as much as she can whilst doing so, "I have faith in you."

Instead of words, she finds herself throwing her arms around Brittany's body, settling on the small of her back, around her waist whilst pale arms wind around Santana's neck. It's a comfortable embrace, but it's at sort of an awkward angle, and after about three seconds of burrowing into Brittany's neck and inhaling that heavenly scent that makes her stomach flip multiple times - she's pretty glad it can't be an extended hug. Because the chances of her letting go within the non-awkward length of time would be very unlikely.

"You're my best friend," Brittany whispers whilst pulling away.

Santana lets out a long exhale, ignoring the way her heart sinks at that declaration. "Yeah, Britt," she hates this, "You're my best friend, too."

Because that's what they are.

Best friends.

* * *

><p>Sneaking into her own apartment turned out to be harder than she anticipated, considering as soon as the door's open, there's Sophie, sitting on the sofa with raised eyebrows and a half-expectant, half-pissed off expression on her face.<p>

"Where have you been?" Sophie demands rather than asks, her tone harsh and quick. "Gerry called to say you left the office ages ago."

Rolling her eyes is almost too big of an urge to refuse, but she manages too and turns, just at the right angle to spot the clock on the far wall. _Damn, _it's 9pm. She wonders why she didn't even acknowledge the sun going down when she was with Brittany. Inwardly, a scoff comes out with the words _"because your company was way too damn distracting" _but she manages to ignore it.

"I was with Britt," Santana explains, shrugging off her blazer and throwing it onto the coat rack – even though it should be on a hangar, "In Central Park."

"Why?"

"You said you were out," Santana moves through the apartment, brushing Sophie's legs off the coffee table and taking the seat beside her wife. "I didn't know what time you were back." _Damn, _she's getting way to good at this lying thing.

"No, I meant why did you leave work?" Sophie's voice is so demanding that Santana actually has to crick her neck to relieve a little of the frustration burning down her arms. "In the middle of a session, may I add?"

Santana _really _should've gone out to dinner with Brittany instead of coming home earlier. The idea that maybe Sophie would be happier that she came home early, well, earlier than she though, did run through her mind, but obviously, how stupid of her. Staying out the whole night would've been better, and easier for that matter. Sophie's so stuck up her own ass she'd completely forget by the morning.

_Why the hell is she even married?_

"I quit," Santana announces quickly. Like a Band-Aid, rip it off fast to minimise the build-up and pain.

Emerald eyes burn into her temple, but she ignores it, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table and jolting the full glass of wine there. _Jheeze_, and Santana has a drinking problem.

"Why the hell would you quit?" The words come out so loudly Santana jerks sideward, covering her ear whilst wincing.

"Jesus, Sophie. I don't need you to yell at me."

Sophie stands abruptly, face contorting with anger. "Then you shouldn't have left your fucking job!"

"I had enough!" The volume of Santana's voice almost matches her wife's. "I had enough of all the bullshit demands and I needed too," brown eyes slowly glance up, voice softening whilst she says, "I'm starting my own label."

There's no response, so she just continues. "I'm gonna do all the things I've wanted too."

"I thought you were doing all of them at Millennium," Sophie walks around the sofa and towards the kitchen. She's wearing one of Santana's work shirts, the one that's a too short to be a dress-shirt, but long enough to cover the curve between her thigh and ass.

"No," Santana glances up, "Not at Millennium. You know how much I love music, but I just…" she grabs a pillow and brings it to her lap, "I just couldn't do it anymore. I was there for all the wrong reasons. They're making music for all the wrong reasons."

"How could you make a change like this without consulting me?" The anger's back in Sophie's voice when her arms cross across her chest.

The will to argue isn't there, so when Santana's words come out, they're soft and gentle. "I had to do this for me, Soph. If I had, you would've just talked me out of it." It's true, Sophie would've done everything humanly possible to ensure Santana quitting _wasn't _a possibility. A little part of her did consider money being a part in their marriage. Sophie was pretty fast to jump on the band wagon when she discovered Santana's wealth on their fourth date. _No, _there's no way Sophie would cheat _and _be a gold-digger.

"You don't know that," the green eyed brunette tries to reason, even though both of them know it's true.

Santana cocks her head to the side, "Oh come on, Soph. That's bullshit, and you know it."

"So Brittany wouldn't have talked you out of it?"

She whips around so fast she's not entirely sure whether she actually just did a 360 spin. "No, she didn't talk me out of it."

"What?"

Brown eyes widen, _shit_, she just slipped up. "What?"

Sophie moves closer, eyes narrowing accusingly and brows rising, "You already told her?"

"She's supporting me," the words come out like bullets, fast and cutting, but also defensive. Santana keeps her voice steady and represses the urge to lash out. Sophie can't be angry, Sophie's _never _there for her when she needs her to be. Brittany's _always _been there, and honestly, Brittany was there was way before Sophie. She only told the people in order of their position in her life.

Wait, _what?_

"Why would you tell _Brittany,_" the green eyed brunette's lips snarl as the name comes out, "and not me? _I'm," _she jabs her own chest, stepping closer with a fumed expression, "your wife. You discuss it with me, not _her." _

Brown eyes narrow and a shot of anger singes down Santana's left arm, "Don't say her name like that," she defends, gritting her teeth together and stiffening her body. "And I told her because she's there for me and you're not."

Sophie's eyes widen with surprise and a dash of hurt. If there wasn't intense frustration and anger burning through Santana's veins, she'd probably feel guilty. "My world can't constantly revolve around you, Santana."

A small scoff bubbles from her lips, "You wouldn't even know if that was a possibility!" Santana jolts up and throws her hands into the air. This argument is heading for war. "I'd like to try and see things from your perspective, to see how you feel but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass."

Despite it being a kick ass insult, one that inwardly, Santana's clapping herself on the back for, she kind of regrets saying it. Not because she didn't mean it, not because her wife looks about two seconds away from slapping the shit out of her and/or crying, but because now she'll have to sleep on the sofa, and that shit is _not _comfy. She'd prefer not having a bad back, but the slight satisfaction she feels right now as Sophie grits her teeth, clenches her jaw and has imaginary comical steam blowing out her ears, kind of makes it hard to concentrate on her preferences.

"Fuck you." Sophie spits, fingers clenching tighter around her biceps until little ruby crescents form on her pale skin.

Santana tilts her head and shoots a quick faux smile, "Fuck you, right back."

The bedroom door slams when Sophie storms away, visibly fuming and slamming her bare feet to the ground.

So Santana does the only thing she feels like doing.

_Laughs._

* * *

><p><strong>Two weeks later – 29<strong>**th**** March**

It's Brittany's 25th birthday.

And her family are still in England. Neil's conditioning is getting better, chemotherapy is working, even if it is treacherous, but his overseas doctor recommended him not to fly and so they're staying there. Bar last year, and Brittany's 20th birthday in 2014, they've always spent birthdays together. Either doing some extreme like drinking themselves silly (Brittany's 21st birthday), skydiving (Brittany's 22nd birthday), or watching shitty movies, snuggled up on the couch because they couldn't be bothered to do anything (Brittany's 23rd birthday.)

The birthday's before those were mostly celebrated with the Pierce's at their holiday home in Lima. Strange location for a holiday home, but Santana never questioned it. After their city house and her own, the Pierce's Lima residence was her third home. Even if one of them were in a relationship on one of their birthdays, they'd tell their other half to skedaddle for a day and spent it in each other's company. It's just their thing, and always has been.

Well, up until this god for saken year anyway.

Santana rolls over in bed, keeping herself steady as Sophie's snoring loudly into the crook of her neck and grabs her ringing cell phone. Even if it's 9am in the morning, she still manages to enjoy the soft melodic sound of Norah Jones voice and hums along with it.

Sliding her finger along the screen, without looking at the caller ID, she answers it groggily. "Hello?"

"_Are you still asleep?" _Brittany asks cheerily, her voice way to loud.

Santana shifts, sliding her wife off her and untangling their bodies until she can swing her legs over the side, whilst the heel of her free hand rubs away the ache behind her eyes. "Well not anymore you ass," there's affection in her tone, so Brittany giggles.

"_Good, well I just thought I'd ring you to not tell you that Mike's throwing me a not-so-surprising, last minute birthday party at mine tonight."_

Something cold drops in Santana's stomach. That's _her _thing. _She's _the one that always arranges things for them to do. It's not Mike's place. Boyfriends have never come in between their birthday celebrations. "Mike?" She repeats for confirmation.

"_Yeah," _Brittany breathes as the sound of traffic comes down the line. That woman walks _everywhere, _even when it's longer than taking the subway. _"He asked me if I was doing anything and seeing as you hadn't said anything I was assuming we weren't this year. I hope that's okay?"_

It's not exactly untrue, but Santana had been planning to just turn up at Brittany's apartment with a few DVD's and an extra-large pepperoni pizza. Sure it wasn't set in stone, and Mike hadn't even come into consideration when she'd been lying in bed last night, mulling over possible plans, but she just thought it was an unspoken agreement to spend their birthday's together without anyone else this year. Just like every other year.

Guess they both assumed wrong.

"Yeah, totally," Santana nods to herself, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "That's fine."

Brittany hesitates before answering, and Santana scrunches her face muttering inwardly "please don't catch me out" over and over. _"Hmm, okay. Well, come over for seven? And bring Sophie. Mike said he wanted all of my friends there."_

"Britt," Santana lets out a small laugh. Sophie? Being Brittany's friend? _Please. _There'd be a better chance of her and Berry linking pinkies and waltzing around wearing matching BFF bracelets equal joyous smiles. "please, you can say it's for me."

"_Hey! That's not true. I like Sophie."_

She casts a look towards the form of her sleeping wife over her shoulder, and then turns back. "You like her as much as a duck likes an empty pond."

"_I like her," _Brittany insists.

"As much as a duck likes an empty pond," Santana repeats, rolling her eyes and laughing quietly.

"_Whatever, look, are you coming or not?"_

A small laugh punctuates her reply, "Sure, Britt. We'll be there at 7 on the dot."

"_Good. And bring wine and my present."_

Santana's eyebrows hit her hairline, and a grin spreads across her face. "How presumptuous of you, Brittany," a strong British accent tints her tone. "How do you know I've got you a present?"

"_Because you know it'd be more painful to watch me pout than to spend a few measly dollars on your best friend." _It's true. The 'Brittany Pout' is so unbelievably hard to endure that over the span of their friendship, Santana's basically done everything in her power to prevent it. _"Plus, you know, you love me."_

"Bit up yourself," Santana quirks in reply, standing from the bed and lodging the cell between her shoulder and ear whilst riffling through her drawers for her best friend's present. "For all you know I could be panicking and wanting to get off the phone to rush out and buy you one."

"_Is that why you're looking in your chest of drawers for it?"_

She pauses, head tilting and eyes darting around the room, "Britt if you have cameras in here that's kind of weird."

"_Nope," _Brittany mutters a muffled "thank you", probably to someone near her. _"My knowledge on one Santana Lopez is just amazing."_

"Yeah, yeah," the tips of her fingers meet shiny wrapping paper and she grabs out the small box, tweaking it open until brown eyes lock onto the silver Tiffany's bracelet that may have cost over $300. She convinced herself it was to make up for the missing Christmas present - even if _that _one is in the back of her wardrobe, wrapped away in penguin covered paper. "So I'll see you later, yeah?"

"_Awesome," _Brittany chirps, _"Oh, and Mike likes beer, so bring him some. He doesn't think you like him so you need to break the ice."_

The urge to respond _"that's because I don't like him" _is almost too much, so she just bites her tongue and hums like she's agreeing. "Sure."

"_Okay, bye!"_

"Bye!"

Santana hangs up, clicking the top so the cell locks and shoves it on top of the counter, directly next to Sophie's. The small pale egg coloured box is around the size of Santana's palm, and it's so shiny and pretty that she just ghosts her fingers over the top of the jewellery. It's _so _Brittany. Beautiful, unique, and literally one of a kind as she had _BSP & SML _engraved behind the small heart pendant dangling off. A smile crosses her face when she imagines Brittany's reaction.

It doesn't matter if Mike's going to be there or not, she's pretty confident nothing's going to beat her present.

* * *

><p>"Is Rachel going? What do you think she'll wear? Oh, God. What if I'm not dressed up enough?" Quinn's been going on about the dwarf for about forty five minutes, non-stop. Come to think of it, Santana's not even sure if the blonde's even breathed. "What if I look like a hobo. Shit, Santana," she tugs on Santana's arm, "Do I look like cra-"<p>

A tan hand shoots out, covering Quinn's mouth and widening hazel eyes in response, "Quinn," Santana starts, "Shut the fuck up. Seriously, you're doing my head in."

Quinn taps her foot impatiently as they wait outside Brittany's apartment for Sophie - who should've been here about five minutes ago. "No, Lopez, you don't understand - I'm like _shitting _it."

"You'll be fine," Santana leans against the cold brick, "I heard small animals sense fear so man up and you'll be fine."

"She's _not _a small animal."

"You're right," Santana smirks, "I don't think hobbits classify as animals."

Quinn jabs her in the arm playfully, "Fuck off."

About a minute later, a cab pulls up and out gets Sophie, dressed in a navy blue dress that's _way _too short, and would only need a centimetre rise before everything was out on show. Apparently she wants to show off how hot she is, not that Santana has a problem with that. Actually, she doesn't really give a fuck, short dress or not Sophie's probably cheating so what does it matter?

"Hey babe," Sophie kisses Santana quickly, then turns to Quinn. "Hey, Quinn."

"Hi," Quinn monotones, narrowing her eyes. It's not exactly a secret that Sophie takes some time to warm up too, and seeing as the hazel eyed blonde has just come into the picture, there's at least a few more months before they get on talking terms. "Can we go in? I'm freezing my tits off."

Santana laughs and they head inside. When Mike opens the door she thinks she's about to throw up, but instead hands him the six pack of beer and regrets buying an incredibly expensive bracelet. Sure, she did think it was good when Mike couldn't out-buy her in terms of presents, but now standing here, it's going to look a little suspicious when Brittany opens Santana's present which is like three hundred times better than what Mike gets her.

_Fuck._

She wonders if Brittany would take a hug as a present.

* * *

><p>8:30pm rolls around, and Santana's in the armchair in the corner, cradling a bottle of beer just watching Brittany move around the apartment, all happy and smiles as she trades small talk with the various attendees. Santana recognises most of them, but some of them are new faces and considering there's been a lack of conversation with the people she <em>does <em>know, the chances of making new friends with the strangers aren't high.

Quinn's hovering in the kitchen with Rachel who's busying herself with various snack trays. They've been in there for about ten minutes and so far the blonde has opened her mouth a total of three times, two of them being for a large glug of beer. It's been mildly entertaining to say the least. Sophie's in the corner, well, Santana think so anyway, and she's pretty sure Puck's been hovering beside her wife so at least no-one's on their own.

Well, apart from Santana.

"Santana," Mike speaks up from beside her, looking wary. "Hey, there."

"Um… Hey."

The Asian man lingers beside the chair, "So how's it going?" He asks, rocking forward onto the ball of his feet, hands shoved in pockets and just looking generally incredibly awkward.

"It's good," Santana holds back a laugh, "How's it going for you?" She's not even entirely sure that's how to respond politely, seeing as that's a pretty general question. How's _it _going? What is _it? _A bug? A piece of paper? Life? Work? She rolls her eyes at herself, now she's just trying to pick and find things wrong with the guy.

"Good, thank you."

Brittany glides across the room in that moment, smiling brightly and blue eyes sparkling as they lock with dark brown. They share a quick, silent _hello _and then the blonde moves into the kitchen, four or five empty glasses in hand and aiming straight for the sink. There's just something about Brittany, and even after all these years, Santana's never been able to zero down what the hell it is. But it's infectious, it's happy, it's relieving.

It's _amazing, _and Santana doesn't think she'll ever get enough of it.

A tap on her shoulder breaks her thoughts and she glances up. Oh, right. _Mike_.

"Sorry?" She asks vacantly, eye still trained on the dancing blonde inside the kitchen who turns around, meeting her gaze and grinning widely. She misses the way the Asian man looks between the two women with narrowed, inquisitive eyes.

"I said, would you like another beer?" Mike asks, even if the words are airy and near non-existent to Santana.

"Uh," she looks away when Brittany does, "No thank you," her eyes flicker up towards him but then straight back to her best friend. "Although, do you mind if I give a toast to Britt?"

"Sure," Mike agrees, nodding and picking up the empty bottles grasped by a tanned hand, "I'll take this to the kitchen, first. Then you're good to go."

Santana shoots him a smile. "Thanks, Chang."

Mike enters the kitchen and leaves her too it.

* * *

><p>Spot on nine o'clock, Mike wanders into the centre of the living room and taps a spoon onto the edge of his champagne flute. About five minutes ago, he did a round with a tray and handed out a glass filled with expensive bubbly to everyone in the apartment.<p>

"Hey, everyone? Can I have your attention please?" He calls out, cutlery still making a clanging noise on the side of the glass.

Santana looks down to her flute, and narrows her eyes. She knows a toast usually means a drink, but glancing around, everyone already had a drink prior to the champagne. Sure, it wasn't fancy stuff like this, but it was either wine, beer or some sort of mixer. Nothing too bad. Mike's going a bit over the top for a stupid toast.

"Right," Mike grins, turning to Brittany and offering out his hand, who blushes in return and smiles, stepping beside him until she can lace their fingers. A spiral of piping hot jealousy pours through Santana and the grip on her flute tightens, fingertips turning white with pressure. She can feel Sophie watching her from the sofa, and looks away, eyes focusing on the white, fluffy rug in the centre of the room – she needs to keep it cool. "As you all know, tonight's celebration is for this beautiful woman's birthday," he kisses the back of Brittany's hand and Santana grits her teeth, eyes locking onto the Asian man with anger, "And we have Brittany's best friend, Santana, who would like to make a toast."

Santana nods sternly, forcing a smile as she gets up, flute in hand and move next to Sophie. It's not because she _wants _to be next to her wife, but with Brittany and Mike standing across from her, fingers laced intimately and puke-worthy stares being traded, Sophie's like her security blanket. A metre away from Sophie, she beckons her wife with a curl of a finger, and when the green eyed brunette sidles up beside her, she also threads their fingers together and pulls closer. Security blanket.

"Brittany Susan Pierce," Santana starts, her voice loud as with her free hand continues to grasp the champagne flute. Blue eyes lock with brown and another surge of confidence flows through Santana, seeing as usually she's not a great public speaker. _Okay, _public isn't the word for a room full of about thirty people, but it's still a large crowd.

"We've been best friends since before I can remember, and I can't ever think of a time where you weren't there for me." A thick layer coats the inside of her throat and she swallows against it, why is this hard? It's a freakin' toast! "I can never be more grateful for those many years of friendship, and I look forward to so many more."

One side of Brittany's mouth tugs up at the corner, whilst her blue eyes sparkle like sapphire. There's _the _smile. The one Santana loves. It could be the amount of alcohol she's consumed, a bit of liquid courage, but she's pretty sure it's the gaze her best friend is giving her that's causing this confidence. "Today is your 25th birthday, and we've all gathered here tonight to celebrate that with you, because I can speak for all of us confidently, when I say that we love you," the words clench at her heart and she swears for a second her face falters, because Brittany's eyes flash a little darker. "And that you're an amazing woman who deserve to get everything you wished for on your birthday, and so much more."

Santana raises her glass, and only a second later the other occupants in the room, who since the beginning of the speech have just been a blur to her, follow suit and wait for her to continue. "So this is a toast, to my best friend, and to one of the most important people in my life on her birthday." She grins and nods, "To Brittany."

The room follow with a repeat of _"to Brittany" _and then a clinking of glasses comes after. Everyone's sipping on their drinks, but Santana's is still hovering by her lips as she continues to gaze into her best friend's eyes, conveying words she couldn't put into that speech like _**the**__ most important person in my life_ instead of 'one of them' and _we'll be okay _because she can see the fear in her best friend's eyes_. _The only words she _can_ vocalise are ones that wouldn't be heard because of the background noise, so with another raise of her glass, she mouths _"happy birthday Britt," _to her best friend, who mouths _"thank you" _back and then they sip their champagne in sync.

If it wasn't for Sophie being too wrapped up in talking to Puck, Santana would probably be worrying about being caught mid-stare. Although, now she's realizing that it's kind of got to the point where she doesn't care. Truthfully, and this is like straight-talking, honest, swear-down kind of truth, she does actually wonder why she's with Sophie anymore. There's no spark, the sex lost its appeal ages ago after that damn encounter with Brittany who managed to make a hand-job feel so much better than sex, and Sophie just really grinds Santana's gears. Plus, the whole cheating thing is pretty blatant, even if the mistress or the guy version of that is still in the shadows.

If Santana didn't know any better, she'd suspect Puck.

But no, that's stupid. Santana's pretty sure he's learnt his lesson from the whole Melissa fiasco. It took a while to forgive him, and seeing as Melissa wasn't exactly the love of her life; it was easier than she thought. But he knows better not to go after Sophie. Melissa was her girlfriend, but Sophie is her _wife. _That's just a step over the unforgiveable-asshole line and she knows that Sophie, or Puck for that matter, wouldn't go there.

That's like in the rules of marriage or something. Not that Santana can really say much about those rules.

"Excuse me!" Santana snaps her head around to Mike who's in the same position as before, except one of his hands is waving frantically in the air. "Guys, can I have your attention, again?"

Once the whole room quietens again, Santana's eyes narrow as she watches Mike move to stand in front of Brittany, placing his flute on the side table, and then Brittany's. Nervously, his eyes dart around the room and there's a thin, layer of sweat forming across his brow whilst his hands clasp Brittany's, thumbs rubbing in circular motions across the back of them.

Quinn moves until she's beside Santana, hand moving to the small of her back whilst Rachel backs away from Brittany. They exchange a quick glance which Santana doesn't miss, and her mouth moves to question, but before she can ask what the hell is going on, Mike speaks again.

"Brittany…" Mike starts and the moves once more.

Santana sucks in a sharp yet deep breath when she sees just _how _Mike moves. Something heavy and cold drops in the pit of her stomach, crashing down on her inside and ripping her apart internally and she swears her heart's breaking. There's one thing she hadn't quite considered, one thing she hadn't quite expected and that one thing is _definitely _happening right now, in front of her very god damn eyes.

_Now _she understands the need for champagne.

Each millisecond ticks by painfully slowly and the whole room slows down as Mike bends, one knee hitting the floor whilst the other stays at a ninety degree angle, his right hand releasing Brittany's whilst it reaches into his pocket and clutches at something square.

There's literally no way this can be happening, and if it is, then she fucking hopes it's in a horrible nightmare. That maybe, she might wake up with a cold sweat, the quivering bottom lip and paling face only being part of this awful dream and the image of Brittany's eyes darting towards her panicked being part too.

"Oh my God," she thinks she hears Brittany whisper, whilst blue eyes flicker around the room and a pink tinge colours the tip of her hears.

"Brittany Pierce," Mike's voice is strong, but there's still a little shake too it that reveals his nerves. "I love you, so much, and if I wasn't so damn nervous I would probably say the speech I had prepared," his hand comes out of his pocket, the dark blue velvet box cradled in his palm and Brittany's face contorts with shock, "But I'm just going to skip to it, because I love you, and that's all you need to know."

Mike skilfully flicks the top of the box open, revealing a classic designed silver band with a single diamond on top, and pinches it between his forefinger and thumb on his right hand before offering it up and lingering by Brittany's left hand that his left is clasping. "Will you do the honour of marrying me?"

Santana stands still, heart pounding and blood racing. She can feel the anger, sadness, rejection, heartbreak, and confusion struggling in the pit of her stomach, willing her mouth or limbs to do or say anything to stop this, but she can't. She's frozen; eyes locked on the exchange being watched by a crowd full of people, and can't do a single fucking thing to change it.

But then she notices the silence.

Brittany's silence.

And for once, Santana _likes _it.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh God, I know you hate me again. I apologise, but seeing as I have a week off, I may be able to get the next update out faster so you won't have to wait!<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed, and please review if you can! Thank you!**


	15. chapter fifteen

**Okay, I know some of you weren't happy with the last chapter, and so to apologise, I've actually written this chapter in under a day! It's also kind of in celebration for my 500****th**** review which is fucking awesome!**

**I do apologise for the previous cliff-hanger, but I haven't left this one on another, I don't think I have anyway… I understand some of your hesitations about the proposal, but you're just going to have to read on and find out but I know you won't like it but it's just how this fic is planned out! So I apologise!**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, and I hope you'll enjoy from now on!**

**Have fun!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Fifteen]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>8.8k

* * *

><p>"Brittany?"<p>

Mike's still kneeling on the floor, staring up at the blonde with hopeful and frightened blue eyes and Santana has a hard time trying to _not _feel bad for him. She knows how nerve-wracking it was to propose, and she was alone in a room with Sophie, so God knows how he's feeling with thirty or so people surrounding him. And then of course double seeing as it's been two minutes and thirty six seconds since Mike actually asked, and the only response from Brittany has been a deafening silence.

"Brittany?" Mike presses on, tugging the blondes hand slightly whilst looking around the room in sheer panic. "Please answer."

Brittany's right hand shakily brushes back a piece of blonde hair fallen down across her face, and then takes in a deep breath, recomposing herself and straightening up. Santana tilts her head, and watches the way her best friend's eyes flicker back and forth between her and Mike, and then finally lay rest on the diamond ring hovering at the end of her left hand.

Her heart flutter's rapidly with every second passing, hope bubbling to the surface as she watches the cogs in Brittany's brain turn, snapping between crumbling Mike's world and making it a haven. The pause grows longer, Mike's face growing more uneasy by the second and soon enough a whisper comes from the far side of the room. Quinn's hand is still on Santana's back, pressure increasing minute by minute, and the urge to demand what Brittany's answer is almost gets too much for her. But she manages to bite it back, _literally _making her teeth clamp down on her tongue as her breathing picks up, murmurs increasing throughout the room.

Brittany breathes in deeply and finally meets Mike's pleading eyes and instantly, Santana feels her heart sink through her body until it's about a second from falling out her ass. "Yes," the blonde responds breathlessly, a smile growing across her face, "Yes, Mike, I'll marry you."

Quinn's hand tightens around the jacket covering Santana's back as the brunette's knees buckle slightly. She lowers her head, trying not to do it so obviously that Sophie notices, and squeezes her eyes shut against the emotional turmoil. Mike practically jumps from the floor, his strong arms wrapping around Brittany's body and picking her up to spin around whilst the crowd breaks into a loud applause, hands clacking against the champagne flutes and a few cheers coming from Puckerman.

But the last thing that passes through her mind before Quinn drags her into the bathroom, isn't if Sophie's watching her reaction, or if anyone's listening to her rapid breathing and drumming heartbeat, or even if anyone's slightly suspicious by her lack of cheer for her best friend. No, instead, it's whether or not Brittany felt this way all those months ago, when she proposed to Sophie. Whether Brittany's heart was aching and whether it felt like Brittany's world was crumbling around her.

Because Santana even knew from that night, when they saw each other for the first time in years, that something was different between them… That something was evolving. The half-regretful, half-apologetic glance that the blonde's sending her way right now is enough to prove that.

And now, watching Mike cup Brittany's cheeks and bring her in for a sweet kiss that's all lips, she's beginning to understand what exactly that evolution is.

* * *

><p>Santana walks into the kitchen, where Brittany's standing in front of an open fridge, lugging out a few more bottles of champagne. A fleeting thought of what the blonde would've done with the excess if she had said no runs through her mind and a small laugh to bubble to her throat – because screw drinking <em>that <em>much champagne. However it's quickly erased when she realises that's just a _thought _and her heart sinks again_. _The reality is still a _yes. _

She knows Brittany's acknowledged her presence, and slowly sidles up, butt leaning against the top of the table in the centre of the kitchen directly behind her best friend.

"What are you doing?" Santana breathes, arms crossing and heart aching. Her heart's pounding inside her head and the sparkling on Brittany's left hand still makes the breath hitch in her throat. There's no way Brittany can actually be engaged.

Brittany takes out one more bottle and shuts the fridge door, shrugging like she doesn't know what Santana's talking about. "Getting champagne."

A scoff threatens to escape Santana's lips but she represses it. "You know what I mean, B - the whole marriage thing. You've known him for what, a few months?"

"I love him."

The words strike Santana's heart. "You've known him for a few months," she repeats, bobbing her head slightly as if to say _duh._

"About as long as you knew Sophie before you proposed," Brittany replies, eyes knowing.

Santana jerks, surprised by the words she's hearing. Her eyes narrow and she scoffs in disbelief, processing her best friend's words. "That's why you're doing this…" she shakes her head softly, "Like a competition? I marry Sophie so you marry Egg Fried Rice?"

Blue eyes narrow with anger, blonde hair swaying from side to side as Brittany shakes her head. "You're unbelievable."

There's a silence, and Santana just watches as Brittany stares at her, eyes reading her insides like a kid's book. Sometimes she really fucking hates the way the blonde can just see everything she's feeling and thinking, sometimes she wishes she could just hide underneath a blanket or something, and just block the ability.

When the silence drags on, well, when Santana feels like she can't take the examination anymore, she shrugs and says, "I knew Sophie for a year and a half, by the way." Like it's _not _going to start another argument. _God, _even she knows she was wrong.

"No," Brittany moves around the brunette, placing two bottles on the table and keeping one propped underneath her arm, eyes purposely avoiding her. "You were _fucking_ her for a year."

Dark eyebrows rise and Santana pauses with shock. That's not true, she knew Sophie for a while before they got into a relationship. Granted, they were sleeping together as fuck buddies, and technically were dating for six months before… _Wait, _how the fuck did Brittany even know that?

"We were still dating for half a year! And how do you even know that?"

Brittany shrugs, "Sophie goes to the same gym as me."

_Oh, _Santana thinks, arms dropping by her side and body spinning as Brittany walks behind the table and opens the bottles. "And you didn't think about telling me this before?"

"Never came up," the blonde grabs two bottles and glides out the room, Santana hot on her heels armed with the other one as they move to fill everyone's glasses.

"You still don't have a point," Santana smiles at Audrey, one of Brittany's dance friends as they approach them and pour out a few champagne flutes, "You've been dating him for half as long as I was dating Sophie."

They whisk away from the group and only then does Brittany reply, "Because knowing her for double the amount of time has done _such _wonders for you two."

Santana freezes, one hand still grasping the champagne bottle and her eyes locked on the back of her best friend's head as Brittany finished the round of people, filling up the glasses where's needed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It just means that maybe you should worry about your own marriage," Brittany shrugs and walks into the kitchen again, this time placing down the bottles and heading straight back out again into the living room.

She only follows, needing to know more seeing as her feelings are pretty conflicted. She's not sure whether to be angry, or jealous, or feel betrayed or even if she has the damn right to feel that way. So far she's done a remarkable job of keeping herself from lashing out, considering Brittany spent about five minutes with her tongue stuck down Mike's throat after she accepted the proposal, but now it's getting tedious and tiring.

Sophie sends Santana a quick smile from the opposite side of the room, before Mike greets her and they delve into a conversation. Santana decides this is her time, and her shoes scuff along the hardwood floor as she catches up with her best friend, clutching a pale forearm and tugging until they're out in the hallway alone.

"What?" Brittany hisses, "I have a party to host."

Santana crosses her arms, remembering she's still clutching the full bottle of champagne in her hand. "It's a party thrown for _you_, you're not supposed to host it yourself."

Brittany's eyes close, her body deflating and the adrenaline from the chase and whispers around the living room draining from both their bodies. The hallway's a lot quieter, considering Brittany had a door installed instead of just an arch, and so now the music is dulled behind the door and so is the conversations between the people. All of the anger that Santana had inside of her has dissipated into a sadness, one she can feel welling up behind her eyelids. She struggles to keep the tears back as Brittany lifts her left hand, wiping at her forehead but revealing the sparkling diamond ring at the same time.

"Do you actually want to marry him?" Santana asks after a long silence, fingers toying with the sleeve of her shirt.

"Yeah, I want to marry him." Brittany answers, strongly, but Santana thinks there's something that sounds like _no _packed in the tone.

She dips her eyesight, focusing them on the floor. "Really?"

A pale finger comes to her chin, tilting up her head until their eyes meet. "Why are you asking me this?" Brittany whispers like it's a secret.

Santana opens her mouth to respond but then clamps it shut quickly. Now she's thinking about it, she doesn't really know why the hell she's asking. Sure, there's definitely burning jealousy in her veins, and sure, the image of Brittany and Mike walking down the aisle, all smiles and cheers with their families throwing confetti and rice at them, make her feel sick to the core, but a question isn't going to make anything better. What's she expecting? Brittany to say that she doesn't want to marry him and wants Santana instead? That Brittany accepted Mike's proposal because she was in a room full of people?

_No. _Brittany wouldn't have accepted the damn proposal if she felt _anything _for Santana.

That fucking _sucks._

"Just making sure," Santana straightens her neck and worries her bottom lip between her teeth, teetering on a minor emotional breakdown. "Wouldn't want you to do anything you hadn't thought about."

"I know what I'm doing," Brittany states, her voice incredibly unconvincing whilst she retracts her fingers from Santana's face.

Santana grits her teeth, pressing her lips together and keeping her features stoic. Written across Brittany's face is uncertainty and worry, and it's almost a relief to see that the blonde isn't entirely sure about what the hell is going on. They're in the middle of a hallway, alone, staring into each other's eyes and watching emotions that they can't voice flash behind their eyes. There are so many things they should be saying, or doing, including getting back to the damn party before someone wonders where they've gone – but they can't. They're too stuck in watching each other and reading unspoken things that even they don't realise how close their bodies are until it's too late.

"Do you really?" Santana breathes, eyes darting between each blue orb as their noses brush against each other, they're _that _close.

Brittany gulps audibly, facial muscles twitching at the proximity of their faces. It's seriously fucking hard not to smile sappily at the way Brittany's breath mixes in between their parted lips, or at the small freckles on Brittany's face because they're so beautiful. Just like Brittany.

"San…" Brittany manages to stutter out a second before the want and need gets too much for Santana and she tilts her head, nudging her nose against the blondes cheek and pressing a little closer until their lips barely brush against one another in the lightest of kisses.

Her left hand cups her best friend's cheek, and then she fully presses their mouths together, tension fading as their lips slip and slide against one another. Brittany kisses back almost immediately, her arms snaking up and looping around Santana's neck to pull them closer together as her back hits the wall, lips taking in the brunette's bottom one and sucking lightly, like she never wants to let go.

_Jesus Christ, _Santana never thought kissing Brittany could be so fucking amazing. Obviously, they've kissed before but with the adrenaline of thirty or so people in the next room, two of are their other half's, it feels so good but so fucking bad_. _It's been there for so long, the need and want that it's seriously fucking difficult to refuse it when they just fit together so perfectly in every way possible.

Santana smiles into the kiss when a small whimper comes from her best friend, but apparently that was one step too far because Brittany breaks the kiss, her hands sliding to Santana's shoulders and pushing until their bodies separate.

Silence invades their interaction, and Santana sucks in her lips, forcing her knees not to buckle at the remains of Brittany on them as it seeps onto her tongue. Her breath is uneven, and she can feel her pants that little tighter but it's nothing compared to the quickened beat of her heart. It's like someone just punched a shot of adrenaline into her veins and caused her pulse to increase and invade her ears.

But then Brittany ducks her head, clenches her fists and shakes her head slowly. Santana gulps, feeling the tingle on her lips but also the sting of the rejection flush through her body as she watches her best friend.

"You…" Brittany trails off, still shaking her head but looking wholly uncertain about what she's supposed to say. "You can't just kiss me like that." She pauses again, eyes lifting at a glacial pace to meet dark brown ones. "I'm engaged."

Santana's brows shoot up to her hairline and she no longer feels rejected or fluffy… She's _pissed. _Her eyes dart down to the sparkling band, and something clenches around her heart, causing her face to contort with disbelief and anger. That kiss wasn't a kiss of someone who _wants _to be engaged, and Santana's now accepted that she initiated that kiss because she doesn't want to be married anymore. But how the fuck can Brittany say that? That Santana can't kiss her. When Brittany was single it was all flowers and unicorns, but now she's engaged, and Santana's still married, it's not allowed? Double fucking standards, much?

"So it's okay when I'm engaged or married, but when _you're_ engaged it's off the agenda?" Santana bites, snapping her mouth shut as soon as the words slip out. She wasn't supposed to say them, they were supposed to be supressed thoughts inside her mind, not publically vocalised to her best friend.

Brittany flinches and narrows her eyes, tilting her head to the side as if to say _did you really just say that?_ Although they've said things to each other in the past, Santana knows purely by the look on her best friend's face that she crossed the line. Blue eyes are hard and dark, nostrils flaring in a way that makes Santana want to sink to her knees and shower the blonde with apologies, but the stubborn side of her takes over, _as always, _and she stands straight, cocking her head to the side briefly in answer to Brittany's head tilt like she's saying _yeah I did – _even though she's seriously regretting it at the moment.

"Screw you, Santana." Brittany says, lowly, teeth bared in an aggressive snarl.

Santana drops her mouth open but a pale hand stops her in her midst as Brittany sweeps past her, shoulders brushing as the blonde returns to the party, leaving Santana in an empty hallway.

She fucking hates this day.

* * *

><p>Five minutes later, she enters the living room once more and finds Quinn immediately. Sophie's over in the corner talking to various people and seeing as Mike and Brittany are sitting in the armchair beside them, the blonde on the guy's lap, smiling and laughing like the hallway incident didn't just happen, Santana doesn't feel like being anywhere near her best friend.<p>

"Fabray," Santana growls, even though she's not pissed at the hazel eyed blonde. "I'm leaving."

Quinn glances away from Rachel, who's now standing behind Brittany, patting her shoulder. "What? Why? The party's just started."

Santana clenches her jaw. The fucking party hasn't just fucked started, it's just gone up a fucking level because Sweet'N'Sour fucking proposed and now everyone's cheers and fucking smiles and throwing around 'congratulations' and 'what type of wedding do you want' and all that fucking marriage shit. And not that it's obvious, but Santana fucking hates that.

"I'm leaving," she reiterates, "I'm leaving now."

She spins around, leaving her jacket in the corner and heads for the door. Oh, and she's leaving her wife too, but then a pale hand wraps around her wrist before she has the chance to open the door and tugs her back.

"Why are you leaving?" Quinn grits, "What happened?" Hazel eyes search brown in a way that should find an answer, but Santana knows that her walls are impenetrable by these ones and all others, except that damn pair of baby blue that are irresistibly gorgeous, so she has no need to panic.

"I just…" Santana swallows the hitch in her throat when she catches Mike leaning up and kissing Brittany quickly. She has to physically shut her eyes to continue, seeing as something's tightening around her lungs and she can't seem to speak with them open. "I just need to leave."

Quinn narrows her eyes, but they soften when she follows Santana's gaze, "What the hell happened?" She asks gently, her palm lifting to touch the brunette's bicep gently.

Santana jerks away, dodging the movement and hardening again. "Nothing. I'm just leaving. Are you coming or trying to get into Lego woman's pants?" She spits, twisting the doorknob and opening it fully.

"I'm coming," the blonde answers defensively, "Just let me grab my bag."

Quinn disappears, and Santana taps her foot impatiently against the floor as she watches Brittany break from the conversation and scan the room like she's looking for someone. The blonde's pulled from her search when Mike laughs and cuddles closer, his arm tightening around her waist and pulling her down to kiss her cheek.

It's so strange, feeling like this. Like she's the one that's been betrayed and the one that's being left behind, when she was the one who did this whole thing first. Brittany's not doing anything she hasn't done before, but it still feels like Brittany's the one in the wrong - even though Santana's _still _married.

_Fuck. _Marriage has done nothing but cause problems and fuck up her life.

Quinn glides around the corner, a huge grin on her face and glassy eyes. "Let's go," she chirps, swinging her bag over her shoulder and heading out the door.

Santana follows, sparing one last glance at Brittany who doesn't notice the hurt, longing she's sending, and then closes the door behind her as she steps into the hallway. The hazel eyed blonde is already by the elevator, and each step feels like a drag as she sidles up beside the other woman, hands dug deep into her pocket and head hanging down.

"Are you gonna tell me what's up with you now?" Quinn asks as she practically bounces into the elevator when the doors ding open.

"No," Santana answers solemnly, the back of her head hitting the elevator wall as Quinn presses _ground floor_ button. "I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine."

Santana twists her head far enough to slide her eyes to the blonde, but not so far that she has to put energy into the movement. "Just drop it, Fabray." She shakes her head the tiniest bit, and then returns to watching the different numbers descend from the penthouse apartment Brittany owns, down to the lowest level, the lights flicking between each one.

"So you dragged me out of a party where I could've talked to Rach more, with no reason?"

"Sorry," guilt flushes through the brunette's body. "I ruined your chance."

"It wasn't my chance," Quinn shrugs, "New Years was."

Dark, perfectly shaped brows scrunch together and Santana clenches her fists against her thigh. "What?"

"Me and Rachel," Quinn turns fully just when the elevator stops at the ground floor. "We already happened at New Year's."

Santana's face drops and something falters in her chest. Her eyes widen as her mouth drops open, "_What _happened at New Years with you two?"

Quinn winks and pauses half-way out the door. "We hooked up in the bathroom," she bobs her head, "It was amazing. Didn't I tell you?"

Everything slowly clicks together inside Santana's mind - a blonde going into the bathroom, the muffled moans and giggles coming from inside and her own retaliation with the consummation of her marriage. _Fuck. _Something hard and heavy slaps her in the face metaphorically and she shuts her eyes, squeezing away the memories and feeling regret flush through her wasn't Brittany in the bathroom.

It was Quinn.

Santana ducks her head, and practically springs out the elevator as she brushes past Quinn, muttering, "No you didn't," before briskly walking toward her apartment to cry away the regret, hurt, anger and guilt building up inside her chest.

Her life is _so _fucked up.

* * *

><p><strong>A week and a bit later – 7<strong>**th**** April**

Santana's found herself drinking a lot more since Brittany's birthday. She comes in from the recording studio every night at 9, and drinks half a bottle of Jack, just because she can before heading out because the bottle's finished at around 11.

Barney's has basically become her second home, with her and Will conversing about everything in her life that _isn't _Brittany, and their friendship growing over a few free Jacks because they're already there when she walks in.

She's started to like Will, even though he's kind of creepy and has a hairstyle that makes him look like he swims to school every day, but he's alright, she guesses. Especially because since he first asked about _that hot blonde you came in with _and Santana grimaced, leant over the bar to grab the bottle of Jack and downed half in one gulp, he hasn't said anything since.

Luckily, when she returns home at night, well, morning, Sophie's either fast asleep or still out supposedly 'at work' – despite leaving her briefcase by the TV. It's got to the point where Santana knows she needs to break it off with Sophie, but is too caught up in whatever she's doing, whether that's drinking, focusing on studio time or trying _not _to think about Brittany and Short Round and how fucking happy they're going to be.

In her mind, they're already practically divorced. With Sophie going off most nights to sleep with God knows who, and then coming back like everything's fine and dandy. She already has the papers in the back of the wardrobe, ready to be handed over and signed, but she can't bring herself to do it. Something about being _truly _alone and single once again, with Brittany off doing the complete opposite is kind of hard to handle.

It's ridiculous, Santana knows that. She's being pathetic, and really needs to get her ass into gear and break it off with Sophie because she knows there's nothing left for her in the marriage, and apparently it's the same for her wife.

Maybe she just needs something, _anything, _to push her into doing it.

Only she has no idea what the hell that is.

* * *

><p><strong>Another long week later – 14<strong>**th**** April**

It's Santana's birthday.

Whoop-de-fucking-doo.

She wakes up, groaning at the banging headache in the fore front of her mind and the dryness in her mouth that makes her body shout _stupid bitch, _and looks to the side to find a note from Sophie. It's short, and probably sweet to a wife who wouldn't know that it's a lie, but it just tells Santana that she won't be there and some ridiculous excuse to do with work. Sophie doesn't even have the decency to stay for her goddamn birthday.

_Bitch._

At 9am, _Smooth Criminal _rings through the bedroom and Santana rolls onto her side, reading the screen and finding a grinning Brittany staring at her with the name underneath. Of course Brittany would be the first person to call her. Brittany's wonderful like that.

Then again, Brittany's just wonderful.

Knowing she'll regret it later, but feeling like her heart can't take it, she drops the phone to the floor and leaves it to go to voicemail, before shutting her eyes and letting sleep take over her again.

* * *

><p>Santana wakes at 12pm, and groggily searches around on the floor to find her phone, which has 15 missed calls and 27 texts. They're not all Brittany, sure, a majority of them are, but then there's a few from other people wishing her the 'happiest of birthday's' and all that other bullshit.<p>

Usually she loves her birthday. This year it's just a drag.

Deciding she really doesn't want to feel anymore guiltier, she switches off her phone and throws it back onto her bed, swinging her legs over the opposite side and standing to head for the shower. Yeah, it's her birthday, and the last thing she wants to do is head out – but soon enough people are going to start knocking at her door and handing over bright balloons and awful cards. Of all the things she needs right now, that's _definitely _not one of them.

Hopping out the shower, and throwing on any piece of clothing she finds, which ends up to be a pair of ripped jeans and a black Jack Daniels t-shirt (how ironic?), she sets off for the door and grabs her keys, making sure to leave her cell in its place.

One look back into the apartment, she leaves and sets out for the only place no-one will find her.

Barney's.

* * *

><p>Santana suspects she's in a fucked up state when her legs lead her to the corner shop, and a packet of cigarettes and a lighter are placed in the palm of her hand, in trade for a few dollars. But then she knows it when she steps outside, feeling the cold air spike her cheeks and takes one out, putting it between her lips and sparking it a light – the fumes dulling her senses.<p>

It's been at least a decade since she smoked last, and that was only because Puckerman thought it was one of those life experiences teenagers needed to have. Sure, it tasted like shit back then, but combined with her mood now and recent events, the craving has been tickling the back of her throat and she sees no point to give in.

Brittany's not there to scold her like the blonde did back in high school, Sophie was smoking the night they met and sometimes comes back smelling of stale smoke, so it's not like she can talk and Quinn… Well Quinn's singing voice sounds like she's had a few in her past so fuck it. She'll smoke the whole pack and try not to focus on the negatives of it.

The walk to Barney's only takes about four minutes from the store she's outside of, but she still manages to cram in three cigarettes by the time she reaches the door. Despite the law about smoking in public places, which is fucking ridiculous anyway, Barney always allowed a few of the regulars to smoke inside when it was just them, and no new comers.

Santana loves that Barney's is kind of threatening to outsiders. Barely any new faces ever walk in so that means she can smoke to her heart's content on her 25th birthday.

What a depressing life she leads.

* * *

><p>Santana stubs out her cigarette in the ash tray, well, she's pretty sure it's an ash tray anyway, but she can't really focus as she's been practising smoke rings for the past four hours and downing a shot of scotch with every failed attempt – which turned out to be more often than she thought.<p>

But hey, four hours later, and like, a million shots later, she's perfected the art and is now watching the smoke form into a perfect circle in the air. According to Will, it's been entertaining to watch, and so he's been providing her with cigarettes since she finished her last one about two hours ago and seriously, she's fucking grateful for that.

Attempting to walk in _this _drunken state probably wouldn't be a good idea - unless the ER is her destination and her date is with some local anaesthetic and a few stitches.

"Another," she calls out, raising her empty hand as she forgot the glass that's still on the table. Will lets out a small laugh, but even through her blurred vision she sees the concern flashing behind his eyes.

Will comes over to her booth a minute later, sliding the glass across and cocking his hip against the edge to look down at her. "That's your last one, Santana," he says, seriously, "I think you should be getting home."

Santana snarls at him, throwing him one of those _what the hell do you know _looks and chucks back a large sip of her scotch. "Don't wanna," she mumbles, even though she's pretty sure it comes out like _mo banna. _"It's my birthday." Once again, sounds like _lis pie mirflay. _God, she should probably stop drinking.

"And you're going to sit in a murky bar all day, instead of going out celebrating with your friends?"

Santana reaches across to the cigarettes on the table top and drags one out, struggling to put it between her lips as she sways from left to right. "I ams telebratings," she manages to get out the words in a sentence that kind of makes sense and sparks the lighter, the smoke flowing from the corners of her mouth as she sucks on the cigarette, "Thib is ty celebration."

"I'm not going to serve you anymore," Will states, throwing the white rag over his shoulder and crosses his arms. "So there's not really any point in you being here."

Brown eyes flicker up, narrowing dangerously despite her state. "Look, Schuester," the words actually come out in proper English, _wow. _"I'm going frew a rough tage ats the moment, so pleases, lets me drink away thib days, lokay?"

Despite her obvious drunken state and reasoning being because she's down, he nods curtly and walks away, muttering only, "Someone should be here with her," to himself as he heads behind the bar.

* * *

><p>The whole room is spinning by the time she runs out of enough cash to buy a drink. Will refuses her anymore, stating that if there's no money, there's no drink – despite him letting her have a tab the last five or six times she's been. But then again, despite this haze, she's kind of glad he doesn't serve her anymore because otherwise she would've blacked out and missed hear the voice of an angel.<p>

"Where is she?" The voice asks desperately about two seconds after the door swings open, letting in a cool breeze. "Where the fuck is she?"

"Over there," Will's voice says in a way that makes Santana feel like she's being pointed at.

A body slips in beside her, a kneecap brushing her hip and a hand grazing the side of her face to push back a lock of fallen hair. The smell invades her nostrils, soft and calm and she rolls her head to the side so her temple presses against the table top and manages to flutter her eyes open to look at the person beside her.

"Britt-Britt," she slurs out, closing her eyes and humming as Brittany runs her fingertips over Santana's brow, "Yours mere…"

"I'm here," Brittany whispers, as her eyes search Santana's face. "I'm here, San."

Santana doesn't need her eyes open to know it's happening and instead leans into her best friends hand, letting her mind wander through the valleys of Dizzy Ville. There's a comforting warmth trailing over her skin from where pale fingers touch, and she's too drunk to acknowledge that she's humming as the touch continues down her cheekbone, around her bottom lip and along her chin and jawline.

"Let's get you home," Brittany says, quietly, so only Santana can hear.

With barely a struggle, despite Santana feeling heavier than an 18 wheeler, Brittany helps her out the booth, supporting the brunette's body with her own and looping an arm around Santana's. A rag doll is the only thing she can relate too right now, seeing as Brittany's surprising strength is leading her out the bar and down the street to her apartment.

Somehow, and God knows how, they manage to get into the elevator without Santana tripping, and up to the seventh floor where they stumble out and towards her apartment. Brittany fumbles around inside her jacket pocket and takes out her key, the lock clicking a second later, telling her that the door's open.

Brittany leads her with strong arms still gripping her waist. The sofa looks like it's over by the window, the kitchen looks like it's by her bedroom and the coffee table is lodged in the wall. Oh my God, she is _so _drunk.

Her legs shake and quiver as the arms around her drag her into her bedroom, and about a second later her back hits the comfort of her mattress and her eyes flutter open. She can see the familiar silhouette of her best friend staring down at her, and with the help of the light filtering in through the blinds, she can see the bright blue eyes watching her with concern and worry.

Arms wrap around her waist, tugging her up until she's in a seated position, and then her jacket's removed, followed by her shirt which just leaves her in a tank top. No more effort is made to remove any more of her clothes, and frankly she's fucking pleased, because there's no strength left in her alcohol induced body.

The bed dips next, and she rolls her head to the side to find a pillow underneath it. The fleeting thought of how the hell she shuffled up without doing it herself does pass through her mind, but then an arm wraps around her midsection and a nose nuzzles into the crook of her neck.

Santana feels a few droplets of warm moisture drip onto the length of her neck and opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, Brittany runs her fingers down her Santana's arm until they meet her fingers, where they thread tightly and suddenly it doesn't feel like she's falling into nothing inside her drunken brain. It's like she's just been anchored and Brittany's the one doing it.

"What's happening to us?" Brittany whispers through a quiet sob and then presses a kiss to Santana's neck before her breathing evens out and she's asleep.

Sadness seeps through Santana and she wishes that she wasn't drunk so she could try and answer, even though she doesn't know how to explain it. With that last heart-wrenching thought, she lets sleep devour her weak mind.

* * *

><p><strong>Another week later – 21<strong>**st**** April**

Since Santana woke up the morning after her birthday, and found the sheets beside her cold and empty, she and Brittany haven't talked all that much, only a few texts every other day. Embarrassed is probably an understatement of how she feels, and talking about it might possibly end in a reply of it. Something she doesn't want to add to her list of stupidest things she's ever done.

Sleeping next to Sophie has become routine. She climbs into bed, taps her fingers against her stomach about three times before open mouthed kisses are pressed to the left of her neck and a hand wanders down into her boxers, rubbing a member that's more willing than she is. About five minutes later she'll be relentlessly pounding into her wife, wishing it was someone else whilst pushing her forehead to Sophie's shoulder and forcing back the tears. Two seconds before she comes, she'll bite down harshly on the skin between Sophie's shoulder and neck and whimper Brittany's name, which luckily passes as a moan and feel the thighs around her waist slack and drop back to the bed.

Then she slides into the vacant space to her left, slips the condom off, wraps it in a tissue and throws it blindly into the waste basket in the corner of the room. When Brittany's asleep, she'll bring a shaky hand to her forehead, feels the tears coming too much and get out of bed, heading for the counter under the sink and drinks away the emotions before they can come out.

But tonight, after she rolls off her wife and hears heavy snores, she heads into the living room and pauses in the doorframe, whipping her head from side to side and trying to decide which would be more comforting tonight, the cupboard under the sink or the TV with re-runs of Sweet Valley High showing.

Something feels different tonight, though. When she bit down on Sophie's shoulder, her whole body screaming with an orgasm but her mind just screaming, she inhaled and smelled something she'd never smelt before. An aftershave - a tangy, yet somehow sweet one that stung her nostrils and made her wince when it seeped into her lungs.

That was kind of the breaking point for her weird need-to-get-drunk faze, because she hops over the back of the sofa, flicks on the TV and picks up her phone, dialling a number that's familiar to her muscles.

Even though it's 2am, Brittany still picks up and answers the phone in a voice that's too perfect, _"Hey."_

Santana hesitates before answering. "Hi, Britt."

"_How're you?" _Brittany asks tentatively, her voice whispering as sheets ruffle down the line. Probably climbing out of bed in the same manner Santana did.

"I'm good. No more drunken visits, though," she tries to lighten her tone but Brittany just hums down the phone with disapproval, "Sorry."

"_You scared me."_

Santana lets out a small laugh, "I scared myself."

Something heavy lifts off Santana's chest when Brittany sighs down the end of the phone in a way that says _I forgive you _and suddenly it's like she's okay again. Well, okay as she can be with her best friend, who she has major feelings for, being engaged to someone and the fact that her marriage is falling apart. But it's still on a better level than her previous state.

"_You're a difficult ass."_

"I'm a difficult ass," Santana nods to herself.

"_But you're __**my **__difficult ass."_

She lets out a laugh, "Yeah, Britt, I'm yours." She swears she hears Brittany's breath hitch down the line and it takes a few moments to process what she actually said, but she just shrugs to herself and accepts it. What's the point in fighting it anymore?

"_I've gotta go," _Brittany whispers, quieter than before. _"Mike's waking up."_

The brunette's face pales and she gulps against a thickened throat. "Okay, but can you come and see me at the studio tomorrow, please?"

"_I'll be there."_

Santana smiles and feels her body deflate, "Bye, Britt."

"_Bye San."_

The phone rings out and she drops her phone to the sofa cushions. The smile on her face is a sappy one and it feels like someone just pillowed her body because she feels all fluffy and excited inside, in anticipation for seeing Brittany tomorrow when she's sober, and able to take in all the blonde's beauty.

A creak breaks her from her thoughts and she turns her head, spotting Sophie leaning against the door jam with narrowed eyes and a quizzically raised eyebrow. The urge to call the kettle black is too much, so instead she just stares solemnly and waits for her wife to return to the bedroom, who does so about eleven seconds later.

Santana returns to the TV, knowing day by day she's gaining the confidence to hand over those damn papers.

* * *

><p>"<em>If it hurts this much, then it must be love…" <em>Quinn sings into the microphone, holding one hand to her headphone whilst the other's pressed to her chest. She's standing behind the transparent glass, belting out the song to the lyrics her and Santana wrote a few weeks back. _"And it's a lottery; I can't wait to draw your name."_

Santana bobs her head slowly, fingers tilting up the pitch and controlling the parameters as she mouths along to the words. There was no way she could've had any inspiration to write this song if it wasn't for her life events, and in some warped way, she's grateful things happened the way they are because _Music Mayhem Magazine_ has already dubbed _Always Attract, _the debut single fromQuinn Fabray's solo career as a strong up comer and expected fighter for the number one spot on iTunes.

"_I'm trying to get to you, but time isn't on our side. The truth's the worst I could do, but I guess that I have lied."_

The door to the studio swings open and Santana inhales the scent, unable to hide the grin that crosses her face when a palm graze her shoulder and a chin rests on top of her head.

"Hey," she murmurs, eyes still fixed on the finger controlling the clock signals as she slides it up on the MIDI.

"Hey stranger," Brittany responds, her arms looping around Santana's neck as she continues to rest her chin on top of loose dark locks. "She sounds good."

"Good? She sounds awesome."

The blonde lets out a chuckle before moving to the side and sitting on the chair next to Santana, "True. But I think the song writer is to thank for that."

Santana's heart flutters, "You know it," she jokes, "I'm a bad ass."

"Alright San," Brittany slides her hand from the brunette's shoulder down to her forearm where she taps lightly. "Wouldn't go that far. Oh, and by the way, I've gotta leave by 9, Mike's waiting for me at the theatre, we're going to see the Lion King."

Something resembling ease leaks into their conversation and Santana feels her body deflate into the chair. Despite the excitement she felt for seeing Brittany today, there was a hell of a lot of nerves that accompanied it seeing as she had a few things to say. But with Brittany sitting here now, she's not entirely sure how she's supposed to go about it. I mean, how the hell are you supposed to tell your best friend that you're breaking it off with your wife because you have a major crush on them? Despite them being engaged to wed?

_Fuck, _life is complicated.

"Britt," Santana breathes, letting Quinn to sing the rest of the song whilst she turns to the blonde, offering out her hands in a weird peace gesture. Brittany smiles sadly at her, eyes flashing with knowing and then takes in a deep breath, before placing her perfect hands over Santana's. The contrast in their fingers are almost distracting, and before she finds herself tilting her head to the side to admire the colouring, she snaps herself out and looks into dark blue eyes. "There are a lot of things I feel that I need to say to you…"

"San…" Brittany cuts in, eyes pleading with the brunette to let her speak.

Reluctantly, Santana exhales heavy and nods, ducking her head when she sees the apologetic expression cross her best friend's face. Every ounce of courage and confidence she had to open herself up and let her feelings known to her best friend disappears with that one look, and sadness slaps her heart, laughing as if to say "_really? What the hell were you expecting?" _She grimaces, biting down on her tongue to force back the heat prickling the back of her eyelids as she prepares herself for the worst.

"I'm…" the blonde sucks in a deep breath and opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, Santana's phone buzzes next to her and the brunette sees the screen alight twice before delving back into darkness.

"Hold on," she murmurs to Brittany who only nods, watching the brunette reach out towards her phone and pick it up.

Santana slides her thumb over the screen, one hand still clasping Brittany's whilst the other brings up the message on her phone. Her eyes scan from left to right to read the short text on the screen and it feels like someone just slapped her with a wet salmon when the reality of what's going on _right now, _on the other side of town grits against her. Her heart pounds a mile a minute and something resembling anger bubbles in the back of her throat as her teeth take in her bottom lip whilst her eyes narrow like she's trying to make sense of what the hell is going on. Santana slides her eyes over it one more time to check it's real and the re-read only confirms it.

_Confirming Breadstix at 7 - can't wait, babe ;) – El Puckerone_

"Santana?" Brittany says in a panicked tone, "Santana, what's wrong?"

The brunette's mouth opens, not to say anything but to morph her lips into a slight purse. The next thing she examines is the background of it when she clicks the home button and everything she's suspecting is confirmed.

This is Sophie's phone.

There's a small, digital clock on the wall, the numbers flashing in red as the next minute ticks by. It's 6:45pm, and Breadstix is over the other side of town, at least half an hour away. Without answering Brittany, she reaches over, pausing Quinn mid-song by pressing the speaker button, similar to the one in the Millennium studio and leans into the small microphone lingering by Brittany's arm to speak.

"Have you got your cab with you?" Santana asks, gritting her teeth together as she plans her next movement inside her head.

Quinn narrows her hazel eyes, sliding the headphones off her head and hooking them onto the stand as she exits the room and stands in the doorway. "Yeah," she answers, brows furrowing with confusion, "Why?"

Brittany looks to Santana, who looks to Quinn, who only looks back to the other blonde and it's like a never-ending circle of confusion for the two blondes – seeing as the brunette's the only one who knows what the hell is going on. Flaring her nostrils, and tasting the bitter flavour of finality lingering at the tip of her tongue, she raises her upper lip into a snarl and clenches her jaw.

"Because we're going to Breadstix."

All she needed was evidence, and by hell is she going to get it. Now it feels like she has a reason to hand over those fucking papers and be free for once and for all.

* * *

><p><strong>I don't think that's a cliff-hangar… But I could be wrong… Well it's not a major cliff-hangar if it is. Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this update and hang tight for the next update, which should be… interesting…<strong>

**Tell me your thoughts if you wouldn't mind!**


	16. chapter sixteen

**To start off, thank you for all your reviews! You guys are amazing, and your feedback is awesome. It really inspires me!**

**Some of you seem to think Brittany might be pregnant! No! I can tell you that now! So no need to worry there! To answer someone's review (I can't find it now but I know it's there!) I don't know how long this fic is going to be, I have plans for it, but I might continue it after endgame. But it honestly depends on things.**

**To 'gina' who gave a negative review, apologies, but if you don't like it, don't read it. Simples. I'm not changing my plans to fit what you want. It's in the genre **_**angst**_**, therefore, it's going to be **_**angsty,**_** and if you can't handle it, look elsewhere. **

**And now... Right, **_**God, **_**I'm nervous, I really fucking hope you like this chapter. I've worked pretty hard on it and if I get it wrong, I might just put my head through a brick wall.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Sixteen]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>7.8k

* * *

><p>The journey takes around half an hour, considering the amount of traffic in the streets. Not really surprising since it's just after eight and people leave their offices around then to return to their loving wives and settle down for a nice, relaxing night in.<p>

Well, that's what most people are doing around this time.

Not Santana, though. Instead, she's frantically tapping her foot against the floor of Quinn's cab, staring out the window and trying to repress the anger burning inside her stomach as New York blurs by outside. Brittany's sitting beside her, because they're in the back and her hand is resting just beside Santana's, like she's scared to make a move in case it sparks something in the brunette and Snix is revealed and all her wrath.

But she wouldn't do that, Santana knows it. And truthfully, she feels kind of bad for dragging Brittany along. After all they've been through, the last thing the blonde would want to do is publically out Sophie about the affair, seeing as it's a small case of pot calling the kettle black here – but she's Santana's strength. She's support, the scaffolding holding Santana together. If anything kicks off, Santana knows she _needs _Brittany there.

They pull up outside Breadstix around five minutes later with no regard for the parking signs and road markings and all of them hop out the cab. Santana's heart's pounding hard in her ears as her pulse quickens with every step she takes towards the door. But they aren't slow steps, they're infuriated, fast ones that takes her to her destination quicker. She _has _to know what's going on. _Has _too.

Somewhere between opening the door and stepping over the threshold, her fingers laced through Brittany's and now they're basically sprinting through the small hallway, barging past the maître d as her eyes search like a hawk and its prey. They're stopped by the bar, and out of her peripheral vision, she can see Quinn lingering behind awkwardly, eyes wide and arms braced like she's ready to tackle Santana in case of a lashing out.

It'd probably make her laugh if it wasn't for her rapid breaths and the red flashing before her eyes, seeing as there's only one booth that _isn't _in view that Santana knows is going to contain her wife and supposedly, one of her good friends. Bile rises in the back of her throat and she clamps her jaw shut, tugging Brittany further through the restaurant, ignoring the maître d's calls and into the back.

"I don't think this is the best idea," is the first words she hears from Brittany when they round the corner and come into the hidden booth's view. In the cab journey over, or, well, the first five minutes, Santana practically pushed her phone into Brittany's hands and let everything fall into place. About a minute later, Brittany gasped beside her, piecing everything together as she moved her hand closer towards Santana's lingering on the leather seat.

Santana rocks up onto the balls of her feet, craning her necks like it's going to enhance her view as she scans the restaurant in search. "Yes it is," she bites back, gritting her teeth, because still, no Sophie.

"Well," Brittany's voice is low like she doesn't want anyone else to hear, even though it's just Quinn behind her. "I don't think _I _should be here, San. It's really not my place."

The words would probably take effect on Santana if at that precise moment, her eyes slid to the left to land on a familiar pale face with sparkling, emerald eyes and a Cheshire grin. Anger burns a hole in her heart and she seethes at the mouth, imagining infuriated foam bubbling out.

But it's not because she's hurt by the confirmation of Sophie cheating, it's because she's just been betrayed by someone she thought she could trust. Being cheated on has that effect. It weakens you, makes you feel like you weren't enough for the person you thought loved you back, and it kind of tears down your confidence – because you don't know _where _you went wrong.

"San…" Brittany breathes sympathetically as she rubs her thumb over the back of Santana's knuckle, trying to soothe her through the simplest action.

Santana just swallows and narrows her eyes, locking onto Puck who's sitting casually beside her wife, arm thrown over the back of the booth with the other resting on the table seeing as he's practically _on top of _Sophie. His eyes are obviously leering at her low cut dress that dips _way _too short at the front to be deemed respectable, and kind of gives out the _hooker _vibe.

The situation is all too familiar. She can just remember unlocking her apartment door on a cold, winters night and walking in on fucking Puck banging her fucking girlfriend Alice on the floor, right in front of the fire place like they owned the damn place. They weren't even fucking living together, and there Alice was, fucking Santana's best friend like it meant nothing.

_God, _why the fuck did she even forgive him the first time? What's the phrase? Once a cheater, always a cheater. Works both ways, apparently.

Sophie throws her head back from across the room flirtatiously, still not noticing Santana's presence as she laughs at something he said – probably one of his lame ass, crude jokes that people only laugh at to either get into his pants, or because they feel sorry for him. For some reason, the second one just doesn't seem to fit Sophie's personality.

Brittany steps closer from behind, her front pressing up against Santana's back and their laced fingers resting between their touching skins, as she leans in close to the brunette's ear. It shouldn't do, because of the situation, but sparks shoot up her arm, fizzling out at her fingertips and threatening to release a moan that creeps up her throat.

"I'm so sorry, San." Brittany apologizes even though she's done nothing wrong. Santana knows it's the only thing the blonde can say.

Santana scoffs, despite herself. "Why are you sorry?" she juts her chin towards the table Puck and Sophie are occupying, "She's the one who should be sorry."

Just as she feels her best friend's mouth open to speak a second later, Puck dips his hand, taking one of Sophie's from underneath the table and brings it up to his mouth – pressing a light kiss to it. Something twinges inside of her stomach and the red flashes repeatedly as she cocks her head from side to side, trying to crack out the kinks of fury building in her muscles. She doesn't both fighting anymore, and instead lets the hollow, burning feeling inside her chest take over, allowing her legs to march right on over to the table because _now _she knows how to handle this.

She thinks she's known for a while, because deep inside, she was waiting and expecting this.

"Sophie?" Santana asks with feigned surprise, wide eyes as Brittany tags along behind, standing dangerously close. "Oh my," she pauses to look to her best friend with an angered smile, "Look who it is Britt!"

Sophie freezes, body stiffening as she turns slowly, meeting fiery brown eyes. "Uh… Santana…"

"This is so weird," Santana continues to keep her voice light and one of those half-mocking, half-pissed smiles on her face. "Seeing one of my oldest and best friends on a date," she brings her free hand up to her chest, "With my wife."

Brittany sucks in a deep breath from behind her, stepping back so the gap between them increases, but Santana only latches on tighter, silently begging with the blonde to stay.

"I-I…" Sophie stutters as her face pales to a deathly shade of white, "I c-can-"

"Can what?" Santana cuts in, stepping closer and keeping her and Brittany's laced fingers to the small of her back, concealed from her wife. "Can explain why you've been cheating on me?" She ducks her head, raising her eyebrows in a condescending manner whilst the fury bubbles faster in her stomach.

Sophie's mouth drops open, but Puck just stays silent. He's never been one for confrontation, especially when he's in the wrong. Usually, if he can, he just sits quietly and tries to avoid the conversation, sticking out of the limelight and letting anyone take the blame – just to ensure he doesn't. _What a gentleman._

"Not going to stick up for her Noah?" Santana hisses, brows scrunching together as her teeth grit loudly. "Oh, wait," she smiles to herself, "I forgot you're a pussy."

The fingers tangled with her clenches and she twists her head slightly. "San," Brittany whispers a little louder than before, "Let's just go. Everyone's watching us."

But Santana doesn't care. She _likes _the fact that everyone's watching this. That tonight, after all of them go home, they'll be telling their spouses and families about what happened with a married couple in Breadstix, and it'll spread because Sophie is a fucking _bitch, _that she foolishly thought she could trust.

"No," the brunette chirps up, trying not to wince when Brittany breaks their contact and steps away towards Quinn. It's a dangerous move, and the blonde knows that, because now there's no restraint, holding Santana back from jumping across the table and smacking the smirk of Puck's face. "I think we should celebrate."

As if it's been planned, a waiter glides by, oblivious to the interaction seeing as he was probably in the kitchen or some shit, and balances a bottle of champagne on the small tray he's grasping in his right hand. Santana swings out her arm blindly, swiping the neck of the bottle off and leaving the waiter to whip his head frantically, wondering what the fuck just happened.

"W-what are w-we celebrating?" Sophie stumbles out, still shuffling further away from Puck.

Santana grips the base of the bottle with one hand, bending at the hip to hold it firmly against her stomach whilst the fingers on the other hand fumble with the cork. Two seconds and one firm tug later, which Santana would clap herself on the back on if it wasn't for this situation it was _that _skilled, the champagne pops open and the bubbles foam out the top, dripping in streams onto the floor.

"Our divorce!" Santana announces, bringing the bottle to her lips and swigging heavily.

"San…" Brittany says roughly as the brunette wipes her chin with the sleeve of her jacket, "Santana, stop it."

Emerald eyes snap to the blonde. "What is that _whore _doing here?" Sophie hisses, face contorting with anger as her eyes bore into the side of Brittany's face.

Arms wrap around her midsection before she can lurch, but she's surprised to find that they're not the ones she was expecting. Quinn's standing behind her, using all her strength to hold her back as tanned arms strain against them. Without a doubt, if Santana wanted too, she could burst through the blondes grip and jerk forward, her fists colliding wonderfully with Puck's jaw – but she can feel Brittany's disapproval burning into the back of her head – and so far it's the only thing keeping her back.

"Don't fucking talk about her like that you two timing _slut," _Santana hisses, each word dripping with venom as her lips curl up at the top, contorting into a small snarl that rips through her body. "Don't you even fucking look at her."

This is Puck makes an unexpected move that causes Brittany to gasp and Quinn's arms to tighten. He slides out the booth, stepping towards Santana until he's before her, hands raised defensively and a half-apologetic smile mixed in with a half-smirk. _God, _she _really _fucking hates him right now.

"I think you need to calm down, Lopez." He says casually, like they're good friends and she _didn't _just catch him with her wife. "Take a chill pill."

The will to hold back is slowly dissolving out the brunette's arms as she wishes to lash out and kick the living daylights out of Puck. Anger seeps through her like liquid, invading every fibre of her being until she feels like she's a firework, wick ready to explode. She allows her body to soften, knowing Quinn will release because she doesn't know her like Brittany does. Quinn doesn't know how to spot a trick before it's a trick, and so when Santana lets her body fall limp and says _"I'm good,_" Quinn believes it.

"Noah," Brittany chastises from behind, as Santana's left arm quivers and knuckles push harshly against the skin. "I think you should back off."

Sophie joins in at that moment, sparking anger inside of Santana. "Don't tell him to back off," she says sliding out the booth. "You've had it bad for _my wife_ since day one, and you couldn't' keep your grubby little hands off her. _You _did this," she points to her and Puck, "You and your filthy ways," Sophie lips curl into a disgusted snarl. "Stupid, little bitch doesn't know what's not hers."

"Yeah, Blondie," Puck pipes in with a snarl, as Brittany's face flashes with hurt and she backs down, "I think you should fuck off."

Quinn letting go was _such _a bad move.

Everything moves in slow motion as Santana curls her fist, clenching tightly until her nails are digging deeply into the flesh of her palm. _No-one_, literally fucking _no-one, _talks to Brittany like that. No-one can call her stupid, and no-one can demean her like that. _Especially_ in front of Santana. The air spikes with aggression as the firework inside Santana explodes and her nostrils flare. Next comes the imaginary comical steam blowing out her ears, then the widening of her fiery brown eyes that speak the actions before they come.

"San-"

Brittany sees it before it happens and lets out a sharp gasp, but Santana's fist is already hurtling through the air, destination equals Puck's face. Despite knowing it's going to feel freakin' awesome to finally, after all these years, punch this douche bag in the jaw, she knows how defined it is – and how it's going to possibly crack one of her knuckles doing it.

But it's totally worth it.

Puck staggers backwards, sliding over the table and causing the cloth to hang off the edge, along with a few glasses that break as they collide with the hardwood floor. His eyes are clenched shut as one hand cradles the side of his face and Sophie practically leaps to his attention, taking his face gently between her hands and cooing - despite him waving his free arm to get her the hell off him.

A large, simultaneous gasp echoes around the restaurant and it feels like a movie when she realises that they're in some dramatic ass movie with everyone watching. _Good, _Puck just got publically humiliated by a girl punching him in the jaw. _Sucker. _She retracts her hand, wincing as the skin throbs from the impact, and she's pretty sure that she _hasn't _broken her bone, but even if it had, it totally would've been worth it.

Quinn grabs her by the elbow, tugging her back until she's a metre away from Puck who's standing there, hugging his jaw and wincing as his fingertips touch the swollen area lightly. There's definitely going to be a bruise. _Good._

"Stop, you're not thinking straight," the blonde hisses. "You're angry and will regret this."

She wants to bite back that she won't, that seeing Puck whining over a cracked jaw will stick in her memory as one of the best things she's ever done. But she also thinks about how much her being angry scares Brittany, and how much Brittany doesn't like violence. She thinks about these things and slides her eyes to the right, seeing her best friend with a half-disappointed, half-scared expression makes her fingers unclench.

Her whole body sags, restraint no longer there as she pours calm through her body – nodding at Quinn like she might not possible snap again. Reluctantly, Quinn lets go, fingers unwrapping from Santana's elbow as she lets the brunette get a hold of herself again and straighten up.

But then Puck cracks open an eye and spits out a mouthful of blood onto the floor. He smirks and shakes his head, looking her up and down like a piece of shit on the bottom of his shoe whilst pushing up from the table, still cradling his jaw.

His hard hazel eyes continue to glare at her when he says, "Don't worry, Lopez," wiping the corner of his mouth with his blazer sleeve and snarling, "Soon Britt will get enough of your dick and come to me too," he scoffs. "Then again, with her track record, anything's good."

That's all it takes for her to lose it once more. Anger sparks down Santana's arm again, curling her fingers into a tight fist as it coils up her arm and once again her fist is hurtling through the air with Puck's nose being the target. Fury burns her insides as the combination of that fucking douchebag insulting Brittany and yelling about her appendage surges through her veins and ten folds the power behind her punch. When her fist collides heavily with his nose, a satisfying crunching sound echoes out, causing the three bodies closest to her cringe as Puck practically falls backwards, flipping over the table and landing head first into one of the booth sofas, groaning loudly.

She doesn't manage to get another few strikes in before strong arms wrap around her waist, clenching tightly and yanking her back until she's a good few metres away, her chest buffed out like she's screaming _let me at him_. It only takes a second before she realises that the arms around her aren't Quinn's. If she didn't already know that there's no way Quinn would be able to hold her back whilst she's like this, the sparks of electricity flowing over her skin, heightening her senses and making her head swim would definitely be a sign.

For a second she wonders if Brittany knows the effect she has on her.

No words are spoken as she's dragged backwards, fiery brown eyes still locked on her wife and how Sophie's standing by the booth, head whipping from side to side like she's not sure what to do. Santana wants to tell, scream explicit cursesat her wife and make a spectacle of the green eyed brunette - but Brittany sees the motion before it's put forward and swings Santana around, breaking the eye contact as she forces Santana's body towards the entrance and out the door. She barely hears Quinn whispers _"sorry" _to the maître D before the air of New York City collides with her face and she's climbing back into the badly parked cab.

She doesn't remember the journey home.

* * *

><p>They pull up outside Brittany's apartment, Quinn putting on the handbrake as glances in the mirror with concerned, hazel eyes. Silence has been looming inside of the cab the entire half hour here, and now none of them know what to say, or how to break the silence. Santana doesn't know what to do, and up until now she didn't think about where she was staying tonight. Her apartment didn't seem like an option, and considering Quinn pulled up here, she's hoping Brittany will offer. If not, a night on the Fabray couch it is.<p>

Brittany's the first to make a movement, unbuckling her seatbelt and staying as close to her door as possible. Usually when they're in this close proximity, somehow they're touching. Whether the blonde has her legs crossed, ankle brushing against Santana's calf, or if they're tapping each other playfully on the seat between them. But not this time. This time, Brittany's has been pushed up against the door, temple resting against the glass as her eyes glass over as she spaces out with her thoughts.

It's never worried Santana before, but something about the lack of spark behind blue eyes is making her worry this time. Especially with the look she got when she slid her wedding ring off her finger, and pocketed about ten minutes ago. It wasn't a good one.

"Thanks for the ride, Quinn. I'll see you soon." Brittany says, pushing open the door and clambering out, leaving the door open as a subtle _you're staying with me _to Santana.

Santana breathes out a long exhale as she watches her best friend walk up the stoop; body deflated slightly as she slides the key into the lock, opening the door and standing inside. Once again, Brittany leaves the door open, and most of the weight on Santana's chest is lifted. Apart from the fear of the unknown conversation to come, and the throb in her left hand, Santana's not feeling too bad. Just backs up the thesis that she hasn't really cared about her marriage for a long time.

"Look, Lopez," Quinn turns in her seat, "I'm not really one for all the sentimental shit," she taps her fingers along the steering wheel, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth like she's trying to find the right words to say. "But don't hurt her."

Perfectly shaped brows scrunch together, "What? I'm not going to hu-"

"You know there's something between you two," Quinn explains, eyes boring into Santana's with deep concern, "whether she's engaged or not." Santana's mouth drops open to say something but the blonde raises her hand, pleading silently to continue.

"And when you go in there…" she trails off, hazel eyes flickering towards the door like she's preventing herself from saying something. "Just make sure whatever you do isn't in retaliation to Sophie, and that Britt knows that."

Once again, Santana's confused. She blinks, once, twice and then nods – hoping it's the right gesture even though she doesn't know what the hell's going on. "Sure, Fabray."

"Okay, now get lost," Quinn's tone is light again, "I'm going to Benny's."

"Benny's?"

Quinn's face contorts with panic, like she's just said something she's not supposed to. "Yeah," her voice is stuttered, "someone I know performs there, sometimes."

Santana rolls her eyes and smiles. _Berry. _"Stalking isn't an attractive quality, Q."

"She doesn't seem to mind," Quinn reaches over, jabbing Santana in the arm before pushing her towards the door, "But she will if I'm late, so scoot."

"Okay, okay." Santana clambers out the door and looks back when her name's called. "Yeah?"

"I know you have more backbone than this," the cab starts, engine revving as Quinn speaks. "So stop being a self-loathing ass and strap on a pair. You don't know how Britt feels."

And then the car peels away from the curb, leaving a very confused Santana with those words ringing in her ears, asking herself _how Brittany feels about what?_

* * *

><p>Wherever Brittany's home is, is and has <em>always<em> felt like home for Santana.

For a while she liked to think that it was just a homey feeling she got when she stepped over the threshold. You know that peace you feel when step into your own house after a long time away, the way _that_ smell – the one that's like no other - invades your lungs and the way a familiar yet strange warmth spreads over your skin when you're standing in your hallway, familiarising yourself with the way your house looks, even though you've seen it thousands of times? Yeah, she used to think it was just that type of feeling she got at any Pierce household because it was purely a Pierce household – and they're family.

But recently it's changed. It's not like she doesn't get that when she steps into Brittany's apartment, it's just that she _doesn't _feel it whenever she steps into her own apartment. There's a blunt chill that creeps up her spine whenever she slides the key into the lock of her front door. But with Brittany's house, it's like she's home. Like _this _is where she belongs. And it's not just her mind that knows it, it's her body does too.

For some reason, there's a nagging voice at the back of her head saying there's a reason why Brittany feels like home, and it's not because the Pierce's are basically family. It's right there, tugging at her mind, but she just can't make out what that _damn _reason is.

Brittany's sitting on the couch, legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she's focused on the television when Santana walks in. She shrugs off her coat, wincing when bruised knuckles get caught in the arm and chucks it over the back of the sofa. She settles back into the cushions to Brittany's right, loving the way it pillows her body and stretches her legs out in front of her, ankles resting on the coffee table in front. This place is so much more comfortable and homey than her _actual _home.

"How are you so calm?" Brittany asks after a long minute.

Santana's brows scrunch together, eyes sliding to the right. "What do you mean?"

"You were so angry…" The blonde shakes her head like she's trying to make sense of something, brows quirking in sync. "…at the restaurant and now you're just sitting here, like nothing happened."

She frowns further, not understanding where this is going. "What am I supposed to be doing?"

"You've just found your wife _cheating _on you with one of your oldest friends, you're getting a divorce and now you're sitting here with me like everything's A-Okay."

Santana purses her lips and shrugs, "I don't know what you want me to say."

Brittany turns and shuffles closer, hand cupping the brunette's cheek as their eyes lock. "I want you to explain to me what's going on in your head," she says, softly, eyes pleading with Santana. "Because I'm worried about you."

"Well you have no need to be," Santana shrugs, trying not to focus on the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach from a simple touch. "I'm fine."

Blue eyes narrow and suddenly she feels like she's under examination. Brittany's doing that thing again, where she turns into Superwoman and basically turns on x-ray vision, but the emotional version where she can read Santana like a book. The brunette stays still, though, not knowing whether _certain _emotions are visible, considering the blonde usually gets all her other emotions dead on.

Then after about seventeen seconds, Brittany speaks slowly, "If I didn't know you any better I'd say that…"

The way Brittany's words trail off sparks Santana's attention and she leans into the touch, palms resting against the blonde's thighs as their bodies swivel to face each other, face to face, body to body. She takes a deep breath, eyes searching blue like she's searching for a hidden treasure. It only takes about two seconds until she sees it. It's small, but she knows Brittany better than anyone, and this particular skill has been with her since the age of seven - so she's had plenty of practice to perfect it.

"If you didn't know me any better," Santana presses on knowingly, shuffling closer until she's leaning into the blonde's personal space. She can see it, lingering right at the tip of Brittany's tongue, and even if she's not entirely sure what _it _is, she needs to know. "You'd say what, Britt?"

Brittany looks away, eyes snapping shut as she hastily removes her hands from caramel cheeks and shuffles away, "Nothing," she says, breathing a little heavier. "Just forget I said anything."

Santana tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowed. She thinks it's a strange reaction to have and suddenly her heart's beating a little faster than before. "Britt?"

"It's nothing," the blonde says in a high voice as she stands from the sofa, curving around it. "Honestly. Now what do you wanna watch?" Brittany moves towards the floor length DVD rack on the wall behind them, still avoiding Santana's gaze. "A DVD or something?"

Curious, Santana stands in a familiar fashion and follows. She has absolutely no idea why, but suddenly her heartbeat's picked up and she's finding herself half-panting as she walks towards her best friend, only stopping when she's a few inches away. Brittany's facing the DVD rack, hands toying with the spines of the cases like she's trying to find one, but judging by the slight hitching in her breath at Santana's presence, she's not exactly focused.

"Britt…" Santana whispers breathlessly, feeling the dryness in her throat.

"What?" It comes out just as breathless and it sends a small smile across Santana's face.

"Turn around."

"Why?"

She steps closer, hand finding Brittany's hips as her front pushes up against Brittany's back gently. Leaning in closer, she repeats, "Turn around."

Slowly, the blonde obliges whilst Santana tries not to revel in the sensation of her palms grazing around Brittany's midsection and abs as her body twists. Their eyes meet, and Brittany looks so vulnerable and open that Santana frowns and steps closer, automatically.

"What were you saying?" Santana breathes out with breathing in the air coming from Brittany's lungs.

"Just…" the blonde swallows audibly, wetting her lips with a quick poke of her tongue as her eyes dart between each of Santana's eyes. "That you should be more concerned," she mutters quickly and turns again, creating the smallest of spaces between their bodies as she shuffles closer to the DVD case.

"Why?" Santana clenches her jaw in confusion. "Why should I be concerned?"

"Because she's your wife."

The brunette steps forward, closing the gap again and matching the sigh that comes from Brittany's mouth when their bodies mould together once more. "No she's not."

"Yes, she is," the blonde's voice is harder than before like she's forcing anger that just isn't coming through. "Sophie's your wife."

Santana's not sure whether that was directed to her, or whether that was Brittany convincing herself – either way, her fingers grip tighter at her best friend's waist, fingers spanning underneath the edge of Brittany's t-shirt to feel hot, smooth skin.

"She's not," Santana repeats, "She's not anymore. Not to me. She doesn't love me and I don't love her."

Brittany shakes her head, "Lawfully, she is."

It's like Brittany's arguing for the sake of arguing, and that there's not a legitimate reason why. Santana's eyes trace a path from the line of Brittany's jaw until she can see no further, wishing the blonde would turn so she could see blue eyes and at least attempt to read what the hell she's feeling.

"How about Brown Sugar?" Brittany adds quickly, trying to change the conversation.

Santana narrows her eyes. She's seen that movie before. Two people who've grown up together, been through hardships and have lives that share uncanny resemblances to their own current lives right now. Something flips inside her heart and she breathes out a low moan that causes Brittany's body to shudder underneath her.

"What's it about?" Santana asks, knowingly as her lips ghost over the shell of Brittany's ear.

The blonde sucks in a deep breath, shoulders deflating as the body behind her presses entirely in her back, from shoulders to knees, curving and moulding completely. "It's about two people who grew up together…"

Santana grins. She knows exactly what she's doing. She can feel it in her heart, she can feel it flushing through her body and she can feel the way Brittany knows too. The way Brittany's body is unconsciously arching into her own, head tilting back to rest against her shoulder and neck cocking slightly to expose a longer span of perfect, creamy skin.

"Yeah…" Santana breathes on, her lips ghosting over Brittany's skin whilst she drinks in the scent. _Oh God, _she smells _so _good. "Two people who grew up together…"

Both their hearts are beating in sync, loud and fast and it's almost impressive how Santana's able to keep herself from spinning Brittany around and doing what they both know is to come. They both want it, it's in the air, it's in the way their bodies are clicking together and it's in the way they're both holding shaky breaths, waiting for someone to make the move. She knows they _really _shouldn't do this. For more than one reason.

Hell, there's probably more reasons why they _shouldn't _be doing this than should – but weighing up a pro's and con's list and acknowledging the consequences of their actions isn't exactly on the forefront of her mind right now. Something blonde, beautiful and literally in her very own hands is, and _fuck, _she's finding it hard to give a crap about those damn undesirable consequences.

"And fell in love." Brittany whispers, so low that Santana knows that later on she'll wonder if she heard it correctly.

She opens her mouth to repeat the sentence, but then Brittany turns in her arms, breaths mingling together as they stare at each other, not moving, and not speaking. Santana looks deep into Brittany's eyes, seeing no hesitation, no doubts...

_Damn it, _she knows it's wrong; she shouldn't be leaning in towards Brittany like this. She shouldn't be so close to Brittany's face that she can see the moonlight reflecting off the shimmering gloss of her long, blonde hair - but it just feels so right and so she doesn't fight it.

Slowly, she moves forward, pressing Brittany up against the wall length DVD case as their bodies mould against one another. It's taken way too long to admit to feeling this way, and now as Brittany's sweet breath blankets her face – she doesn't know why she even tried to fight it. Her eyes flutter shut slowly, and she inhales deeply, running her fingertips down Brittany's arms until they meet her hands.

Their fingers lace instantly, clicking together like puzzle pieces and something blossoms inside of her chest like a flock of birds – free and peaceful. A small smile evolves from deep inside her stomach and spreads across her face. It doesn't sound possible, but the way the butterflies and half-pants are fluttering inside her body – she's sure it is.

The sight of Brittany's winter paled skin takes the breath from her, and the smile only grows with the feeling. The mere closeness of Brittany is so intoxicating, and overwhelming – and despite all the other times when she's tried to fight it, she sees no point. Instead she takes pride in it; swallowing down the unique scent and feeling it invade every crevice of her soul.

Santana slowly moves herself even closer, until their bodies have no space between them. Brittany sharply inhales, Santana grins and reveals her eyes at a painstakingly slow pace. For several moments, she simply looks at Brittany's beautiful face, watching her nostrils flare slightly as she sucks in a breath, holding a half-smile that's so happy Santana's heart flutters at the sight, because she knows it's because of her. She imagines Brittany's beautiful eyes, now hidden by closed lids, and bites down on her bottom lip.

"Open your eyes," Santana whispers breathlessly, tightening her grip on Brittany's fingers, "Open your eyes, Britt."

Just as she asked, Brittany's eyes flutter open, revealing crystal clear blue orbs that sparkle so delicately, Santana thinks they could possibly be jewels. The room instantly brightens, and she finds herself swallowing against a heavily thickened throat as her eyes lock with Brittany's.

She slowly lowers her face towards the long, pale slope of Brittany's neck, and presses a single, soft kiss to the creamy skin there, the pulse throbbing underneath her lips. Her nose involuntarily drinks in the faint smell of the perfume that lingers on Brittany's neck, probably from earlier application – and her stomach flips and mind swarms with adoration. Santana's lips gently touch the skin again, moving slowly down to where Brittany's long neck meets her curved shoulder and then back up again. The smooth feel of pale, warm skin against her lips sends lightening coursing through her very being, to the tips of her fingers and bottoms of her feet.

With every kiss, she listens to Brittany's breathing, transform from a long rhythmic beat, to a more rapid pace. Her lips trail gently up to the blonde's ear, where she ghosts them along the shell and tickles the skin with her breath. Brittany doesn't move a muscle, but Santana can practically feel the emotions pouring out of her best friend. She pays great attention to every inch of Brittany's skin, making sure to linger the appropriate amount of time before pulling back and watching the blonde's chest rise and fall in rapid succession.

And then she knows she can't restrain herself any longer as their lips linger a centimetre away from each other, anticipation burning through her veins. Their lips brush against one another, almost as if they don't touch at all, and the mere feeling bottoms out in the pit of her stomach, sizzling through her body. With a surge of confidence and need, she brushes her lips delicately against Brittany's and marvels in the petal-soft feeling that she's been craving for so long.

Brittany stills for a few seconds, lips freezing and Santana pulls away, suddenly cautious of her actions. Wondering whether or not she did something wrong, she waits and bites down the urge to run away, keeping herself routed with the want and need she feels for her best friend. Only a second later, a deep breath comes from the body in front of her the blonde follows the trail she left, pressing their mouths together once more.

The brunette's lips curl up at the side as she smiles into the kiss, and Brittany releases their hands, snaking her arms around a caramel neck and securing their faces together whilst tanned hands find pale hips instantly, gripping lightly and rubbing circular motions over the clothed hipbones. Santana twists her head, finding the most beneficial angle for their lips to slide over each other, and as soon as Brittany tangles a hand into her dark locks, and takes her bottom lip between her teeth – her legs almost buckle. A sparking sensation shoots through her body, and she moans as teeth gently graze the inside of her bottom lips again, _God, _how has she not been doing this all along?

The air is hot around them, or so she thinks, and she finds her legs growing weaker by the second as she traces her tongue along Brittany's lips. Her taste buds tingle - it's that sweet, unique flavour that she's been yearning for, for so long but never been able to quench. The first time she was blessed enough to taste it, she couldn't enjoy it because of _a thing _named Sophie. She wasn't allowed too. She knows that that's how Brittany's feeling now, but she just feels too damn good to let this go, and considering the lips moving against her own are showing no rejection, it's only urging her on further.

Brittany's mouth opens, and any resolve to break this dissolves instantly. Her tongue slowly dips into the awaiting mouth, leisurely tracing every contour inside and revelling in the taste. Their tongues begin to tangle in a delectable skating routine of intertwining muscles and it's forbidden, frantic and dizzying - but beautifully so, and it just heightens their senses.

Santana breaks their hands free, letting her fingers graze onto the slither of skin showing underneath the other woman's tank top, which seems to be riding up further and further as their lips continue to glide. The touch shoots straight to Santana's crotch and she presses her hips into Brittany's, earning a groan as she tries to relieve some of the pressure building up there. For a second, she pulls back, trailing a line of kisses down Brittany's neck, catching her breath before returning to the sumptuous, pink lips and capturing them between her own, sucking gently.

Pale hands are holding her head in place, toying with her dark locks and she slides her hands around Brittany's waist, pressing against the small of her back to pull their bodies together until it's hard to define where one ends and where one begins. Toned arms tighten around her neck, and she grants access of Brittany's tongue once more as their hips start rocking together in a motion that shouldn't be so practiced, but is. She's pretty sure she's already fully hard, and that Brittany can feel it because a rapid flow of moans and groans are coming from the blonde.

Brittany breaks the kiss, leaning her forehead against Santana's as their uneven breaths mix in the miniscule space between their mouths. The brunette grins and presses another lingering kiss up, feeling the difference of their lips as they're now pretty damn swollen.

"San," Brittany whispers, "W-we…"

Santana gulps and licks her lips, tasting the remains her Brittany on them. "Yeah?"

Blue eyes flutter open, and Santana looks deep into them, seeing the hesitation slowly crumble. It's wrong, they shouldn't be doing this. Especially because last time they were in this type of situation, she was the one to run away. But now they've switched positions. _Brittany_'s the one that's engaged, Brittany's the one who wants to be loyal. And God knows how Santana walked away last time.

She nudges Brittany's face up with her nose against a pale cheek, pressing their lips together softly and slowly before pulling back. "Tell me to stop," it comes out breathlessly, her mind swimming like she's intoxicated, "tell me to stop if you don't want this."

The blonde pauses, forehead rolling the smallest inch from side to side as she tries to find the right words to say. But Santana doesn't let go, she just waits, fingers still spanning underneath her best friend's top, marvelling at the silk beneath her touch and takes in everything she can in this position. It only takes about three seconds for the decision to be made, and Santana smiles because the atmosphere sparks and the hesitation disappears.

"I…" Brittany gulps, and runs her tongue over her perfect lips, "I can't," she breathes before crashing their lips back together. Her arms slide further around Santana's neck as their stumble backwards towards the hallway, in any attempt to find the bedroom.

* * *

><p><strong>AAAAAAAH.<strong>

**I'm just gonna go hide now. Never fear, it won't be long til the next update. Maybe you'll even get it today.**


	17. chapter seventeen

**In celebration of my birthday tomorrow, and as well as loving how much feedback you guys give me, I'm giving you another chapter.**

**I don't have anything to else to say, only I **_**really **_**hope you like it.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Seventeen]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>6.6k

* * *

><p>Santana's calves hit a few objects on the way, but she's too caught up in Brittany to know what the hell is going on, so she continues, sliding their lips against one another, and tangling their tongues together sensually. She draws her best friend tighter into her embrace, hands gripping the dancers trim waist tightly as they enter Brittany's bedroom, spinning them around so she's the one steering their movement. Within seconds, her toes hit the foot board of the bed, and she pulls away, lips smacking apart as she strokes blonde hair away from a beautiful pale face and looks deeply into dark blue eyes.<p>

Brittany smiles, and then backs away, slowly leaning down towards the bed and perching on the end. Santana bends at the waist, pressing her lips back to Brittany's as her palms meet the comforter either side of her best friend's hips, keeping herself steady. She feels fingers fumble with the buckle on her belt, and gasps into Brittany's mouth as the heel of her hand bumps the rigid member caught up inside Santana's trousers, pressing against her thigh. She straightens up slightly, feeling the intensity of the moment surge through her veins.

A quick pop and the pressure around her crotch loosens. Brittany looks up into brown with lust-filled eyes before slowly unzipping the jeans and sliding them down caramel legs. Santana smiles, and reaches down towards her shirt, undoing each button until a white, lacy bra is visible. She licks her lips nervously, and watches as Brittany lifts her arms, eyes trusting and silently asking for assistance.

Santana grins, loving the way that expression sinks through her body and bends down again, keeping their face merely inches apart as her fingers grip the edge of Brittany's top. Slowly and surely, she pulls it over her head, watching blonde hair flow around pale shoulders and finish just above a black, lacy bra with the motion.

She doesn't even try and hide her obvious leering as her eyes trail up and down the length of her best friend's body, lingering at her mouth-watering abs and perfect breasts. _God, _everything about Brittany is so damn beautiful - not only on the inside, but on the outside as well. How can something so beautiful and pure exist?

Santana breaks her thoughts by grasping the edges of her shirt and shrugging it off, leaving it to fall onto the floor. Slightly more hesitant than before, she nudges Brittany's legs apart, pushing the blonde back before laying her down. With her best friend staring up at her with those trusting, sapphire eyes and a willing smile, there's no doubt inside her mind that _this _is where she belongs. Not with the whole sex thing, even though she's pretty sure after this that'll just be another factor to back up her thesis, but with Brittany in general - with her heart, her soul, herself on the line… She knows the only person she wants to possess all of them is the person staring up at her.

Brittany shuffles further up the bed, blonde hair splaying across the pillows as Santana crawls up, slipping in between parted thighs and moaning as the bulge in her boxer's presses up against the welcoming warmth of Brittany's clothed centre. The blonde's lips part, eyes half-hood and then Santana grins, shaking her head in disbelief because she can't believe she's never done this.

Their lips ghost over each other, breaths teasing as sparks develop between the gap. Brittany's breathing has picked up and Santana's too, but it's not a panicked pattern, it's an _ohmygodwhyhaven'tIbeendoingthisallalong _one – and it only makes her smile widely. She moves to press their lips together once more, not being able to control herself any longer.

Somewhere between the gentle pecks, the familiarization of their bodies being flush against each other once more and hands gliding all over each other bodies, they start rocking together in attempt to relieve some of the tension in the pit of their stomachs. There's literally no doubt that whilst her lightly clothed member is rubbing up against the inside of Brittany's still covered sex, she's never been as hard. She can feel her dick twitching with anticipation every time they rock up, or every time her tongue does a sweep of Brittany's mouth.

Santana breaks the kiss, pulling back to look deep into blue eyes, darkened with arousal whilst her fingertips trail from the comforter on the bed, down to Brittany's ribs where they graze lightly. The blonde shudders underneath her touch, a light sigh escaping her swollen, pink lips and somehow, despite the panting and shaky breaths, they bring their mouths back together in a slow kiss, with Santana sucking lightly at a bottom lip and trying to convey everything she feels and needs into the kiss.

Brittany moans into her mouth, sweet breath invading Santana's and causing her eyes to roll into the back of her head. Such a simple action, breathing, something she never considered that could have _that _much of an effect on her. How wrong she was. Why did she ever doubt that Brittany could even make her legs feel like Jell-O simply by exhaling? Everything else the blonde does drives Santana wild, so why wouldn't breathing?

Slowly, she trails a caramel down Brittany's pale, toned stomach, feeling the muscles twitch underneath the path until she reaches the elastic of her best friend's leggings. Brittany's legs part further, causing Santana to grind deeper against her heated centre and another few whimpers to escape one of their lips – whose, she doesn't know. But it doesn't matter enough for her to care.

It's insane to feel how perfectly they fit together, to feel how natural it all feels. A chuckle almost escapes her lips as the realization hits her, because she knows Brittany wants this just as much as she does. After all this time of pretending, or whatever the hell they were doing, it's finally happening. Their strength has given out and they can no longer hold on.

Her tongue gently explores Brittany's mouth, tasting the sweet, unique flavour that she's been yearning for so long and the fleeting thought of protection runs through her mind. But it's quickly erased when she finds her hands taking off on mind of their own and caresses the material covering her best friend's breasts, feeling her nipples harden further under her touch.

This time, it's her turn to moan, and she breaks the kiss to trail a kiss down the expanse of Brittany's perfect throat, nipping, sucking and licking gently. The skin is so perfect, so soft and smooth that for a few seconds, she wonders why she hasn't been doing this the entire time. Not just sex, but Brittany. Why she hasn't spent every available minute paying the utmost attention to the one thing that she needs and has needed for all these years?

But once again, her thoughts are interrupted as Brittany arches her back and pushes her over, straddling her hips and sitting. From the view, lying face up on the bed, Santana can see every dip, curve and contour of her best friend's body, gleaming in the moonlight and to say it takes her breath away would be putting it mildly.

Her hands automatically start grazing lightly up the side of Brittany's legging-cladded thighs, until they meet her hips where she grips tightly. She has to apply the lightest of pressures to actually make sure this isn't a dream, to make sure this is _really_ happening – because right now, it feels like it's too good to be true. It's like she's scared she's going to wake up any second with a sweaty forehead and all these pent up feelings still build inside of her.

"You're so beautiful." Santana whispers, watching Brittany's chest heave in and out slowly. The blonde really is a piece of perfection, she's everything Santana's ever wanted, and everything she's ever needed. Why the hell did she even try and deny her urges when she was with Sophie?

Brittany bites on her bottom lip, and the sides of her lips curve up into a small, embarrassed smile. Her hands slide up from their place at Santana's navel to the white bra that's contrasting with brilliantly, tanned breasts. The brunette's breath hitches as pale fingertips glide over the top of the fabric and she feels her nipples harden instantly.

She immediately pulls herself up, cradling Brittany by snaking her arms around a pale waist, before returning her lips to the assault on her best friend's throat. She sucks lightly at the sensitive spot underneath Brittany's ear, and pale hands clench tightly into her hair, pulling her back until their lips crash back together in another mind-blowing kiss.

Tanned hands lazily make their way up Brittany's sides, and the warmth of her skin makes Santana notice every skin pore and every rib as she reaches for the clasp of Brittany's bra. With a quick snap, it pops open and she leans back to marvel at the perfect mounds being revealed from their black, lacy garment. As the bra peels off, her handiwork is rewarded by the beauty of Brittany's breasts, sitting firmly on her chest, nipples pink and just pretty damn glorious in general.

Slender fingers brush against her cheekbones and soon after hands cup her cheeks to tilt her face up until she's staring into bright blue eyes. Everything about this moment is so surreal. There are no background noises, no-one to disturb them, and nothing interrupting what they're feeling - even though, realistically, there are probably a lot of reasons why they shouldn't be doing this. But their feelings and this moment is clouding any judgement, and Santana's pretty fucking grateful for this right now. Because, honestly? It's a dream come true.

"You can talk," Brittany replies breathlessly with a smile in her tone, before leaning down and capturing Santana's lips in a sweet, lingering kiss.

Santana smiles into the kiss, running her spread palms down Brittany's back as her bra is slowly undone and slipped off. As soon as their bare chests press against each other, both of them moan loudly and breathe heavily into each other's mouths. The mere taste of Brittany's hot breath is enough to make her head swim, and mind blank. She's pretty sure her eyes are rolled into the back of her head, because Brittany's chuckling lightly and the chance of her passing out just sky-rocketed.

Santana's back hits the quilt as Brittany pushes down gently on her shoulders, and she can feel her eyes shining with the need to be touched and to touch. Pale hands slowly come down to her breasts, rolling and caressing them with perfection as their kiss deepens and Santana groans into the other woman's mouth. _Fuck, _this is without a doubt the most perfect, amazing thing that's ever happened to her.

Needing to speed things up, considering she's about two or three touches away from blowing her load already, one hand glides up to the back of Brittany's neck, whilst the other cradles the small of the blondes back and she rolls, settling comfortable on top.

Their lips break momentarily, eyes staring deeply at each other as they both acknowledge what's about to happen. Something resembling nervous excitement surges throughout her being and suddenly it's like she's buzzing, hopping from cloud to cloud on the sky but with the fear that she's about to fall. For so long she's imagined being this close to Brittany, being able to glide her hand up and down the long expanse of her best friend's ribs whilst her lips linger dangerously close to another pair. For so long, she's wanted all that, and right now, she _can, _and she is.

She presses closer once more, her whole body pressing into the one beneath her as arms slide around her back, finger softly pulling gently against her bare skin. The whole of her skin blossoms with warmth once more, and she barely has a second to think before Brittany's tongue dips into her mouth, tongue stroking deeply and softly and swallowing the throaty moan she produces.

As Santana slides her hand down Brittany's side, nails grazing lightly over creamy silk skin, it hits her that they're about to change their course of their relationship forever. Even though they've definitely crossed a line already, the one they're about too is going to mean so much more. And as her fingers curl around Brittany's thigh, hitching it up and bending it to rest against her side so she can press her body more firmly against the other, she's realises just how okay with that she is.

Every movement is like a shot of adrenaline to her heart, and it sets her pulse racing in her chest as her whole body flushes with heat every two seconds. With her free hand, and the other still holding Brittany's thigh in place, she allows her weight to settle fully on top of the blonde and wedges it between them, over the soft skin of her best friend's toned abs. Moving slowly, she moves down until her fingertips hit the waistband of the leggings and lingers when Brittany sucks in a sharp breath mid-kiss.

"Can I…" Santana pants after breaking the kiss, her forehead resting against her best friends. She doesn't need to say the rest of the sentence because the way her eyes sparkle is enough.

Brittany sucks in her swollen bottom lip, and cracks open her eyes the smallest bit to lock with Santana's as she nods slowly. Feeling a little more confident than before, the brunette nudges up her best friends face with her nose and presses a lingering kiss up before sitting up and resting back on her knees in between the blondes legs.

The brunette allows her eyes to ravish the other woman's body in lustful appreciation as her head cocks to the side and a small smile crosses her face. Reaching forward, she allows her fingertips to run along the protruding bone of her best friend's hip before trailing to the sides and pausing. Brown eyes locking with blue, Brittany nods and sucks in a deep breath when tan fingers grip slip inside, brushing against hot skin.

A small whimper comes from the blonde when Santana pulls slightly; lingering only to see if the action is okay. When Brittany bites on her bottom lip, looks at her a little longer and then nods, the brunette smiles and takes a moment to study every quirk in Brittany's face. Like the shape of her eyes and the curve of her cheekbones, and how her chest moves in rapid succession whenever Santana's fingers brush against her skin.

Santana takes a mental snapshot of this, knowing this is probably one of the most important moments in her entire life, one that will change the course of their friendship and future. Even though she could be nervous and worrying, she isn't, because despite the possible negative outcomes of what they're about to do, it doesn't feel like the outcome is going to be bad whatever happens.

Throwing the leggings off into the darkness of the room, Santana leans down to press open mouthed kisses to the skin of Brittany's stomach whilst her fingers slowly trail up pale, toned calves, creating small circles around her best friends knee caps and running her tongue up the dip between the blondes toned abs when her fingertips touch the sensitive skin of Brittany's inner thigh.

It seems that Brittany's starting to lose it a little because her hands find dark hair, fingers tangling in dark locks and tugging gently until Santana pinches the edges of the blonde's panties and pulls it at a glacial pace down her creamy legs. Something lingers in the back of the brunette's mind though; it tells her that she doesn't want to hurry, she's rushed so many things before and she doesn't want to hurry doing this. She wants to marvel in the skin underneath her touch, she wants to slowly worship every inch of Brittany's body and swim in how lucky she is for being allowed to do this.

Santana slides the panties down to pale calves, but stops as she leans back up and takes Brittany's left ankle in her hand, lifting to tug one side of the panties off, and then repeating the process on the other ankle. A broken moan leaves Brittany's mouth and Santana finds a lack of oxygen within her as the blondes arches off the mattress, eyes squeezing shut when the brunette grabs the edges of her boxers and tugs down.

She takes in a deep breath, nerves' shaking her hands as her hard member springs free from the fabric covering them and her eyes flicker up just in time to see blue eyes widen and darken at the same time. Now they're both naked, and whether it's consciously or unconsciously, Brittany's legs part further, offering herself which Santana gladly obliges too as she leans down, hands balling into fists, pushing into the mattress beside Brittany's waist until she hovers directly above her friend, not quite yet wanting to break the skin touching barrier.

Pale hands stroke over her ribs as Santana's lips peck at Brittany's mouth once, twice, before moving down and lingering at the long pale neck where she sucks lightly, tongue swirling out to lick gently. The brunette spends long, heavenly moments willing herself not to touch the body calling out her name beneath her and instead savours every shudder coming from Brittany's body when she nuzzles her nose up the blonde's neck, tongue trailing the same invisible path.

She doesn't think twice when she dips down, taking a nipple in her mouth and flicking her tongue over the nub to earn one of the most amazing sounds anyone would be fucking lucky to hear. Resting on her right arm, and closing the gap between them, Brittany groans as their naked bodies brush against one another, clicking together and moulding like they were meant to be together. She loves this feeling almost more than the knowledge that she's about to make love to her best friend, and doesn't know any way to express it other than leaning up, and capturing Brittany's bottom lip between her own and sucking gently.

Santana can feel her stiff cock brushing up the inside of Brittany's thigh, and begins to rock in anticipation. The blonde body twitches in response as pale arms come around to the back of the brunette's neck, pulling them until there's no space between them, and the ability to see where one body begins and one ends, has completely vanished.

"_Oh_…" Brittany whimpers as Santana shifts up, the underside of her member bumping the most sensitive part of her best friend's sex.

The feeling of uncovered skin touching uncovered skin is almost enough for Santana to come straight away, but she knows she needs to prolong it. This isn't about her; this is about her showing the appreciation she has for Brittany. This is _her _making love to her best friend because it's all she's ever wanted to do, to make Brittany feel good and know how fucking amazing she is.

As their lips slide and glide against each other, tongues gently caressing despite the intensity and heat in the moment, their hips rock in rhythm and she breaks away when she feels the body beneath her quake and shudder at one final bump. Pale arms grip tighter around her neck, pulling their face closer once more; lips crashing down against one another as Brittany comes undone, shattering like a broken vase inside Santana's mouth with muffled whimpers and moans. She's barely even been touching her and the blonde's come already.

_God, _Santana bites her lip and groans at how _sexy _Brittany looks mid-orgasm.

"_S'ntan_…" Brittany pauses with heavy pants and brings a shaky hand up to her forehead, brushing away the blonde locks sticking to her skin with a thin layer of sweat.

Santana grins and leans up, her cock brushing the sensitive skin above Brittany's sex as her lips press gently against the blondes, tasting the small amount of salt on them. The aftermath of the climax still rocks through Brittany as her body quakes with aftershocks, the spark still shooting through her lips and into Santana's mouth.

Slowly bending down, she kisses every inch of Brittany's skin, tongue swirling over each nipple, giving them the same amount of attention before she dips lower and marvels in the way the muscles beneath her kisses, twitch. The heat of their bodies sends a familiar warmth that circulates through every fibre of her being, and the fleeting wonder of how the hell she hasn't come yet passes through her mind – quickly erased when Brittany's hips squirm and she glances up to find the blondes eyes clenched tight and one hand gripping her own blonde locks.

There's once again no hesitation as Santana kisses down her best friend's stomach, pausing only momentarily to lock tap at Brittany's hip to make her blue eyes snap open and lock intensely with brown. Staring deeply into the blonde's eyes, she dips and groans when her tongue runs the full length of Brittany's slick folds, tasting something so unique she wonders if she'll ever get enough of it.

Brittany's hips rise from the bed, and Santana instantly presses one hand to toned abs to bring her back to the mattress as she flicks her tongue over the blondes clit gently, then sucks it with an even softer touch. Continuous moans stream from the blondes mouth, along with a few gasps and pants that shoots straight to Santana's dick, making it ache with anticipation and excitement.

Pale fingers clench tightly in her hair, urging her on as she feels thighs clamp around her head. She's only been doing this for about thirty seconds and she can already taste her best friend's impending orgasm on her tongue. Feeling brave, she reaches up with her free hand to tug one of Brittany's out her hair and laces their fingers together, resting gently on the mattress by the blondes left hip. Their eyes are still locked and it seems Brittany's having a hard time keeping them open because they keep fluttering shut with every stroke.

Santana smiles into the heated flesh, tracing patterns into it with long licks until she circles Brittany's entrance and dips in gently, curling and twisting. The blonde arches her back, pale fingers clenching tightly around caramel ones as a long string of Santana's name escapes Brittany's mouth over and over, walls clenching around the brunette's tongue as the blonde explodes and lets herself go for the second time. Hips buck against Santana but she just holds down, sucking and lapping up all the juices that flow steadily into her mouth, filling her with arousal and a taste that she knows she'll never get enough of.

She pulls back when the body beneath her starts to decrease with shakes, and licks one last time, letting it drag out as long as possible whilst she runs her thumb soothingly over the back of the blondes knuckles of the hand she's holding. She's pretty sure she hears a half sob, but doesn't feel bad for it. It's like a warped method of making her feel fucking amazing, because she just made Brittany feel come for the second time in five minutes.

_Oh God, _the things Brittany does to her are almost indescribable.

Shifting back up to come eye level with Brittany, and watching the emotions flicker across the blondes face as she rolls through her second orgasm, Santana grins and ducks her head to place tender, gentle kisses up the expanse of a pale neck whilst bringing their still laced fingers up to the pillow beside Brittany's head. She runs her tongue along the blonde's collarbone; settling down between pale thighs once more and feeling her stiff cock rub up against the piece of skin below Brittany's navel.

Every touch creates a spark deep within the pit of Santana's stomach, and her heart's beating so loud in her ears that she wonders whether Brittany can hear it or not. Then again, considering the volume of Brittany's, she's not entirely concerned seeing her own is being matched. Violent waves of pleasure course through her when she brushes her fingertips down the blonde's abs, and starts rubbing soft circles on the most sensitive part once more, preparing her best friend for orgasm number three.

Pale hands cup her cheeks and brings her up, lips brushing against one another with such emotion and sensitivity that Santana smiles into the kiss, slowing her finger movements and lifting herself up so the tip of her cock rests gently at her best friends entrance. Brittany gasps, breaking the kiss as her forehead rests against the brunette's and then they're looking deeply into each other's eyes, seeking silent permission as their breathing mingles between their swollen lips.

Santana runs her free hand up to Brittany's cheek, thumb rubbing along a pronounce cheekbone as she presses their lips together briefly, and whispers, "Quiero hacerte el amor," whilst staring deeply into dark blue eyes.

Brittany knows enough Spanish to understand and responds by lifting her head, bringing their lips together again whilst one of her hands glides down between their bodies, fingers curling around the brunette's member and bringing the tip up to rub through her slick folds a few times. Brittany strokes softly two, three times and then breaks the kiss, free hand cupping the brunette's neck and holding the gaze - silently giving permission whilst she holds Santana's cock by her entrance.

It rips the breath straight out of Santana when she rocks forward slightly, the tip of her cock being enveloped by an incredible, tight warmth that makes her eyes bulge and pulse race. The mere feeling is so welcoming and addictive that she has to muffle the groan by pressing her lips to Brittany's as she pushes deeper, a good few inches being covered by this unbelievable feeling. The body beneath her arches, breasts pressing harder against her own, silently urging her to go further in.

The kiss breaks, foreheads rest against each other as the pale hand between their bodies retracts, and cups a tan cheek, bringing their eyes to lock. Santana pants heavily, clenching her muscles as she sinks deeper and finally pauses when her entire shaft is covered by the warm walls, softly massaging her.

It feels like she's a virgin again, worshipping another as they both delve into the realms of the unknown. Everything she feels right now can barely be explained by words, but only by the way Brittany's eyes sparkle up at her as they familiarize themselves with the feeling of being so intimately connected. She savours every second, wishing there was a way she could record this in her mind - because without doubt, this is the best thing she's ever experienced, and will ever experience. She doesn't even need to think twice about that.

The slick warmth becomes to enticing to resist anymore, so Santana rocks her hips, moaning with every movement as she stares deeply into Brittany's eyes like she's witnessing a miracle. She's spent so long trying to fight this feeling that she doesn't even know why she tried to in the first place. It was always going to get the better of her. This feeling is too intense, too intimate, too adoring to just be passed by. Trying to ignore it would be like trying to ignore a full moon. No matter how hard you try, you'll always end up looking at it because it's just so damn beautiful and amazing that you can't.

Santana's breath hitches when Brittany's legs bend, and curl, moving up to wrap around her waist to prolong the thrusts and make them deeper and more pleasurable. The blonde's hips twitch as Santana's shaft slides in and out, her lips never straying more than half a centimetre away from Brittany's. Their eyes continue to stay locked as she pulls out almost all the way, the tip still revelling in wonderful heat and then pushes back in at a pain staking pace.

Brittany continues to cup her cheeks, keeping their gaze steady. Even though she knows it's getting increasingly more difficult for the blonde to stay level, as quiet squeaks escape swollen pink lips every time her pelvis hits Brittany's.

She keeps thrusting in and out, feeling the heat crawl over her skin and build up in the pit of her stomach as the blonde's hips move along with the pace, creating a comfortable rhythm and drawing out every thrust like it's the last. Santana takes this time to press her body flush to Brittany's, releasing one of the hands clenched around the bed sheets to trace the curves of the blondes body, sliding to her hip and gripping as she rotates her hips. The groans and moans echo in the room as they move together, grinding and staring into each other's eyes.

If there's one thing she's grateful for in regards to their messed up past, is that it's giving them both time to delve into outside experiences - like sex with other people. Because, as fucked up as it may sound, if it wasn't for those experiences, they wouldn't be able to tell how unique, how different and how amazing _this _feels in comparison. If it wasn't for those other journeys, this could just feel like another round of sex with someone. Having their friendship being the majority of their past, it's given them the ability to see how wonderfully they fit together. Not only sexually, but emotionally.

Santana picks up the pace when Brittany gasps because she hits _that _spot, and she presses herself closer and deeper with every motion, making sure that Brittany feels everything she does. The words of her best friend echo through her mind…_"If you make love to someone, you'll feel everything they feel…" _and for a few, brief seconds, she wonders if Brittany knew all along that _this _is where they'd end up.

It's so strange to think that all this time, and all those people both of them have been with, that they've never reached that or found the ability to make love to someone. All that time, when they were trying to find the right one, the _perfect _one to open up and let the experience happen, that really, it was in front of their noses the entire time.

Brittany's ankles unlock behind her back, and Santana narrows her eyes for a split second before she's being flipped and straddled, her cock still buried hilt deep comfortably. She thinks back to the many times where Sophie did this, and she realised after a while that they weren't having sex, they were merely fucking and suddenly panic shoots through her, thinking Brittany may be _fucking _her, and not making love to her like she is too the blonde.

But all worries are quickly replaced when Brittany leans down, their chests pressing against each other as soft pecks are placed around Santana's face, finishing at her lips where they kiss slowly, tongues dancing around each other whilst their emotions run free. Tan hands immediately find purchase on pale hips, thumbs rubbing in circular motions as she begins to rock Brittany's body back and forth, feeling the tip of her dick twitch every time it hits _that _spot and the way a muffled moan transfers into her mouth with each thrust.

They stay closely wrapped around each other, their lips still gliding across each other whilst Brittany begins to lift up and down at a glacial pace, grinding down and causing simultaneous gasps to escape both their mouths which are lingering near each other, stealing sloppy kisses every other thrust. Pale fingers scratch lightly at the scalp beside Santana's temple and she smiles, because this is what she's always wanted. Not sex with Brittany, but this intimacy, this connection. She's always wanted what poets write about with _Brittany._

Brittany's lips suck lightly on her the brunette's bottom lip, tongue flicking every time she raises enough to only keep the tip inside her. _"Sant'na…" _She moans, squeezing her eyes shut when the brunette begins to jerk up with every down thrust, deepening the motion and feeling the walls clench around her member.

Santana feels a wash of joy rush through her when Brittany sucks in a sharp breath and bites down on her bottom lip hard, squeezing her eyes shut as she continues to gently ride the body beneath her. This isn't fucking, this isn't even sex… This is making love.

_Now _Santana understands what people mean when they say it's one of the most amazing experiences anyone could ever encounter. _Now _she understands what Brittany meant all those months ago, back before she accepted how she felt. _Now_, she just understands exactly how in love she is with her best friend.

Brittany sucks in her lips, pressing her forehead harder against Santana's as an airy moan bubbles at the back of her throat and erupts from her lips. Watching the beginnings of the blonde's orgasm is so incredibly that the brunette jerks up, feeling herself in the warmth as her mouth lingers about half a centimetre away from Brittany's, the hot pants rolling out her mouth and coating the blondes lips.

There's the sound of breathing, heavy pants and wet skin sliding against each other as the beginnings of both their orgasms crash down upon them. Santana moves her hips, rotating them in circular motions as she grinds up into every down thrust and knows just how close Brittany is by the way her face scrunches, her mouth drops open and that little crease forms in between her brows. The brunette tightens the grip on her fingers, marvelling at the skin underneath her touch as she lifts her head off the pillow, bringing their lips together and sits up.

"_Britt," _Santana husks out in between kisses, squeezing her own eyes shut as Brittany grinds faster and deeper. The build-up in the pit of her stomach is so intense that she's not sure how long she can go before exploding and groaning heavily.

Santana slows down her movements, sliding gradually into her best friend until her passion reaches it limits. She knows how much a rock of her hip will do, and the desire they feel is too deep too ignore. Their eyes lock as she feels the connection of their souls come together, until their one.

The pressure builds inside of her as Brittany grinds down, rotating her hips and it doesn't feel like she's about to come, it feels like the impending release is rather a complete merging of the two of them. As if her love, her emotion, her very soul is trying to become one with Brittany's.

She matches the blonde's movement, rotating and grinding and determined to hold off until the blonde comes too. Brown eyes watch closely, taking note of the way Brittany's face twists, scrunches and contorts with utter pleasure – like the crease in between the blondes brow, and the way her cat-like eyes narrow and almost close as she feels her third orgasm.

Santana moans as she feels the first contraction of the walls swallowing her cock throb and massage until she's about two seconds away from coming. One quick slam and she freezes, feeling blue eyes snap open as the pressure reaches the highest point, not only in her member, but also in her entire being. _This _is what it feels like to make love to someone; _this _is what it feels like to _be _in love. _This _is what she's been looking for all along – and it's been underneath her nose the entire time.

"_S'ntanaaaa!" _Brittany half-screams, squeaking as her arms tighten around Santana's neck, pulling her best friend's forehead into hers as they ride off into the sunset on matching releases.

She can't hold back any longer and feels her body convulse in what she knows is the most powerful release she's ever endured. She feels herself erupt inside of Brittany, hot liquid seeping out and flowing over both of their sexes. The intensity of her explosion only matches Brittany's as she watches the blonde's body quake and shatter as she powers her way through her third orgasm. Their bodies quake together, and she feels her soul explode along with her release.

Just as expected, their mutual orgasms connect, just like how their two souls merge and become one. Their pleasure is intense, draining and all-consuming as the intensity of their orgasms punch through their muscles, leaving them drained and sated. The fire of their souls burn in each other, quenching each other's needs as they gaze at each other and both sink into something deep, something scary, but something wonderful.

Smiling softly, panting and gazing at each other with adoring, tired expressions, as their orgasms begin to fade, leaving them with an amazing aftermath; Santana leans up and presses their lips together in a lazy, slow kiss, still deeply buried inside Brittany and feeling warm and comfortable, just like she did when she stepped into this apartment earlier.

Now she gets why wherever Brittany is and has been, has always felt and still feels like home.

Because home is where the heart is.

And her heart's always been Brittany's.

* * *

><p><strong>Thoughts please? *hides face*<strong>


	18. chapter eighteen

**Excuse me for my language, but **_**fucking hell**_** the amount of reviews I got for my last two updates! Altogether, ch.16 & ch.17 received over 100 reviews. That's fucking **_**insane! **_**I did smile like an idiot whilst reading every single one and it seriously made my day.**

**Anyway, I'm so glad you liked those chapters, I worked for a long time them I have to admit, and ****I can't even...**__**you guys are so fucking awesome.**

**Thank you everyone who wished me a happy birthday! It made it so much better, honestly! I can't actually put into words how amazing each and every one of you are!**

**For some of you who asked, I **_**really **_**don't know how long I'm going to keep this going. Brittana is endgame so you guys have nothing to worry about in that area, but I don't know where I'm going to take it from there. I was thinking maybe a little storyline after endgame – what do you guys think?**

**So yeah, just thank you a million times and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Eighteen]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>8k

* * *

><p>They break from the kiss, both panting heavily as their foreheads rest together. Santana opens her eyes slowly, licking her own lips and tasting the combination of sweat and Brittany on them. Her hands glide up the blonde's moist back, rounding until she can sweep a stray lock of hair away from Brittany's face, and gaze openly at it. For so long she's been purposely trying <em>not <em>to stare at the beauty that's before her, and that now she can, that she's _allowed _too, she wonders if she'll ever stop.

She hears Brittany's breath regulate after a long moment and swallows, readying herself to speak, even if she's not sure words describe how amazing she feels. Slowly, blue eyes open, sparkling in the darkness as pale arms fall slack around Santana's shoulders. They're still tightly intertwined, and still _very_ connected in the sitting position in the centre of the bed, but neither of them seems to care judging by the stupid, sappy smiles that tug at their lips when their eyes meet.

"Hey," Santana's the first to break the silence, shuffling and groaning at the feeling of _still _being inside Brittany.

Brittany lets out a breathless chuckle and presses a kiss to the tip of Santana's nose before replying with a simple, "Hi."

They both stare at each other for long moments, eyes darting between eyes and then down to lips and back up again. Small smiles remain on their faces as they sigh together, memories of the past few moments flickering through their minds. It's like they're in sync, telepathically connected because it seems they both reach the end of the memory, where their orgasms exploded and airy sighs escape their lips at the same time. A giggle comes from Brittany when Santana drops her head, pressing it to a pale shoulder and letting her lips ghost over creamy skin.

Santana feels so warm inside Brittany's embrace, but she knows it's only going to last for about half a minute or so because the heating isn't on, and then they'll be cold. So reluctantly, and that is _serious _reluctance, she pulls away to look back up into dark blue eyes and whispers, "We should get under the covers."

The blonde nods and Santana shuffles back a bit, parting their chests and instantly wincing at the sting of bare skin against cool air as she does so. Her eyes flicker down between them, looking at the most intimate part of her best friend and how her own most intimate part is buried deep within it and… _Oh God, _if she doesn't do something about it now, she won't ever – and she's now emotionally and physically drained to the point where she's not sure if she has the energy for round two. Apparently making love to your best friend does that.

"What are you smiling at?" Brittany giggles, circling her arms around Santana's neck and bringing their lips together.

Santana kisses back for a second, groaning into the receiving mouth as a tongue flicks at her lower lip before breaking away half a centimetre and responding, "Just how I made love to the person who had to explain to me what making love was."

Adoration and slight embarrassment etches its way across a perfect, pale face, tinging the tips of Brittany's ears, "You remember that?"

"You don't?" Santana counters, pecking the blonde's lips to separate the words.

Brittany shakes her head, her hips moving and causing a shot of arousal to spiral down into their still attached sexes. "Of course I do, I just thought that since you consummated your marriage you would've made love to-

Santana squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block the words out even though she's _hearing _them and not _seeing _them. "Britt… I don't really want to be talking about _her. _Not now, not ever."

"Sorry," Brittany nuzzles their noses together and instantly Santana melts into the embrace, hugging the pale body closer and putting all the energy she has left into _not _focusing on her cock that's hardening with every second it's still inside the blonde, "I won't talk about it."

"Good," Santana nudges up and presses a slow, languid kiss to perfect lips, making sure to keep it PG-13 as other parts of her aren't doing such a good job. "And Britt, not that I don't love this," she removes one hand and moves it round, sliding it up the blondes thigh until she touches their connected sexes, "But if we don't move, I'm going to be delving into round two in about half a second."

Brittany grins widely, revealing perfect white teeth that contrast beautifully in the darkness of the room and flutters her lashes, "And that would be a bad thing," her arms tighten against Santana's neck, pulling their bodies closer once more, "Because…"

A groan slips out her mouth, "The heating's not on and we'll get pneumonia."

"Total exaggeration." Brittany counters, her lips ghosting over Santana's a few times, "But I can think of better ways to warm up than get under the covers."

Arousal singes through Santana and she moans, loudly, not even the slightest bit embarrassed at the physical effect Brittany has on her. Emotionally it's insane, so why shouldn't physical be any different? She pinches her lip up at the side, pretending to be confused like she's searching for what Brittany means, but when a finger prods at her cheek, she loses it and giggles. "Like what?" She plays along anyway, scrunching her nose up pressing closer.

"Hey!" Brittany faux chastises, retracting her arms and crossing them across her chest after pushing Santana back to the bed. "You know what I mean."

Santana grins and places her hands on Brittany's thighs, rubbing up and down slowly. "I know, I just like teasing you."

"Not funny," Brittany pouts and pushes her brows together with fake anger. "This is new, and therefore, it's still embarrassing to word."

Dark brows shoot up. "Embarrassing?" Santana repeats, "Britt, I don't think you can really be embarrassed when I've made you come three times in a row and watched your face each time."

Blue eyes widen and pink lips pop open into a wide 'o' shape whilst pink tinges at Brittany's cheeks, even visible in the darkness. "San!"

"What?" Santana asks through a giggle, moving her hands up to try and pry open still crossed pale arms. "I'm just saying," she shrugs with modesty to emphasize her point.

"Well it's embarrassing," Brittany ducks her head to her chest, blue eyes avoiding brown.

"Britt," Santana whispers through a smile, tugging at secured pale arms, "Britt-Britt", she sing songs, leaning up and feeling the arms loosen and watching the frown break on Brittany's face as she continues, "Brittany…"

A smile crawls up at Brittany's lips and Santana chuckles before rolling them onto their sides, effectively sliding out at the same time. Two groans echo the room and Santana flinches as cool air hits her hot member, the moisture at the tip tingling with the change of temperature. Brittany's body mimics the movement and they instantly slide to the centre of the bed until their inches away from each other.

"Fuck," she curses, shuffling even closer to press herself to Brittany again, "That wasn't cool."

Brittany frowns through a grin, "That was because I was mad."

"You were mad?" Santana asks, knowing the answer already as she reaches down and pulls up the comforter.

"No," Brittany assures, chuckling as her arms fold between them bodies, fists tucking between the valley of Santana's breasts as their legs twine beneath the sheet now covering them. "I wanted to be, but you're kind of cute."

Santana smiles, "And you're kind of beautiful."

"Well aren't you a sap."

Santana shrugs, "Blame yourself for that one."

The smile on Brittany's face is the kind that shouts _I'm in love and over the moon happy_, but Santana doesn't comment, instead leaning in and brushing her lips over Brittany's once, twice and then three times just because she can. A hum comes from the back of Brittany's throat when Santana pulls back, and runs her fingers over a fair brow, pushing back a few pieces of hair to tuck behind a pale ear.

The moment is so comfortable and for lack of a better word, fucking amazing, that Santana never wants it to end. She can't even supress the ridiculously large grin that tugs at her lips as Brittany's eyes dart between her own, sparkling and brightening the dark room in a way that no amount of lamps could. The adoration and love she feels right now is so large that she can't supress the way her body reacts as she scrunches up her face and watches as Brittany takes the hand, twining their fingers.

"How's your knuckles?" Brittany whispers, turning their hands to take a peek. The darkness is a problem, so she tilts it towards the moonlight filtering in through the blinds and shuffles closer.

"They're alright," Santana replies, her eyes fluttering shut when Brittany presses soft, butterfly kisses over the back of her hand. "I've punched Puck before, he's got a hell of a jawline but it's nothing new."

The blonde furrows her brows, "Why?"

"Remember Alice?" she breathes out, eyes flickering down when Brittany rubs her foot up her calf.

"As in bitch face?"

Santana lets out a little laugh. Alice and Brittany barely got on. They only met a few times, but there was some ridiculous jealousy on Alice's side… Maybe even Brittany's. She would say that it was stupid, but lying here, wearing absolutely nothing and just revelling in the way her emotions are going fucking crazy from even the smallest of touches, maybe it's not. She wonders whether everyone saw it from the beginning. Pretty obvious Sophie did considering she was insanely jealous and never got on with Brittany.

Santana smiles and nods, "Yeah, bitch face."

"What about _her_?" Brittany grimaces, her features hardening.

Santana brings their twined fingers up to Brittany's face, tracing the creases and curving along her jaw, feeling the tensed muscles underneath. "I won't say if it's bothering you."

"It's not bothering me."

"Britt…" Dark brows rise skeptically, "I know it is."

Brittany shrugs and looks down to focus on her finger as it runs along the ridge of Santana's collarbone. "Well I didn't like her."

Santana leans in, rubbing her nose against Brittany's, "And that was because…"

"San," a faint blush creeps up on pale cheeks as the blonde rolls back, "You know why."

"I know," Santana grins, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at her best friend. She leans down, pressing soft kisses along Brittany's cheeks, down to her jawline and then to the corner of her mouth, but just before pressing her lips to pink lips, she pauses and pulls back, looking into soft blue eyes. "I just would like to hear it."

Brittany quirks an eyebrow and rolls her eyes in a playful manner whilst her hands slide around Santana's neck, fingers toying with the hairs by the nape of her neck. "You're a dork, you know that right?" She says through a grin.

Santana nods twice and licks her lips, wanting to lean in but wanting to hear those few words first. "So? You didn't like Alice because…"

"She was a bitch," Brittany reasons, smirking.

Brown eyes narrow. "Oh, really? And it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact you were jealous?"

Santana breathes in deeply, still hovering dangerously close to perfect lips and exhales slowly, watching the effect she has on the blonde as pale eyelids flutter shut and her body squirms slightly underneath her. She grins widely, waiting until blue eyes open and they both stare at each other – knowing the answer but both of them challenging the need to hear it. They smile simultaneously, and Santana sees the _yes _flashing behind blue eyes and for her, for now, that's enough.

She's just about to lean in when a hand playfully pushes at her shoulder, causing her to fall back to the bed. Brittany throws a leg over her stomach, straddling her and revealing all her Goddess-like body in all its glory and _damn, _it makes supermodel's bodies look like friggin' tramps.

"You're staring." Brittany states softly, hands loosely running down Santana's arms until their hands meet, where their fingers tangle like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Santana arches an eyebrow, eyes trailing up a body toned from years of dancing until she looks into bright blue eyes, trying to ignore how she wants to gasp at the simple gesture of holding hands. "It's hard not to."

"Because I'm naked?" Brittany says with amusement lacing her tone.

Santana shakes her head from side to side, silently saying no because it's true. "No," her voice is gentle and serious and it makes the blonde sit back and relax onto her lap, all the while staring down with a quizzical expression, "because you're beautiful." Santana says, gazing up into her best friends eyes and conveying all the sincerity she possibly can.

Blue eyes dart away with embarrassment, and a faint shade of pink tinges at pale cheeks as Brittany lets out an airy sigh, their twined fingers making a full circle from the pillow supporting Santana's head to her stomach where they rest, rolling from side to side gently.

"Why do you have to say things like that?" Brittany breathes, her eyes boring back into brown ones with adoration and wonder.

Santana narrows her eyes slightly and takes a moment to contemplate the question. The answer's so simple that she kind of wants to kick herself for even taking two seconds to think about it. "You deserved to be told that every single day," she shrugs, rubbing her thumb over the blondes softly, "at least twenty times," she lightens her tone and breathes out heavily, "because you're amazing."

Brittany's eyes gloss over, tears brimming behind her eyelids and she swallows audibly whilst untangling one of their hands. With her now free one, she supports herself by leaning palm down on the pillow by dark locks, pressing their still threaded fingers on the opposite side of the brunettes head as her body lowers, breasts lightly brushing against Santana's. "Thank you, Santana," she whispers, eyes shining with sincerity like she's never been told that before. "I can't…" she gulps, tears threatening to escape her eyes as she looks away, "You make me…"

Santana smiles softly, and shakes her head, knowing that this is brand new for both of them and understands the difficulties. Brittany's always been the emotional, romantic one, who shows her feelings a little more - well, a lot more actually. She's always been the one to cry at The Notebook, and to clap her hands together, tilt her head and let out an airy sigh when two old people walk down the street holding hands and still in love after seventy years of life together.

On the other hand, Santana's been the hard one, the rock who barely reveals her feelings and has only allowed two people in her life to actually see the real her. The one with stupid reading glasses, no make-up and heart vulnerable enough that two little words could probably break her. One of those people is staring down at her right at this moment. Never has she been more pleased to have wandered onto that basketball court back in 2001 to see Kool and The Gang beat boxing and dancing.

"I know," she breathes out, craning her neck the slightest bit until her lips brush against one another.

Sweet, tender kisses are being traded until they both smile and deepen it, Brittany leaning down to do so. At the same time, their heads tilt, allowing their lips to slide against each other with practised ease as more a soft moan tumbles from the blonde's mouth and onto Santana's tongue. It tastes like everything good in the world, and there's no way she's _ever _going to not want these kisses. They're nothing like she's ever experienced and _by God, _the way Brittany's tongue gently caresses her own always seems to make her eyes roll into the back of her head.

Their kisses slow down as oxygen becomes a necessity, and she whimpers as Brittany dips her tongue in one final time, tracing the contours and outlines of her mouth and then breaking completely, mouths parting only half an inch as their foreheads touch.

"_Fuck…_" Santana whispers hoarsely, "You are _so _good at that."

Brittany winks, "I know."

"So modest."

The blonde grins, "I know," she says again, leaning up to capture Santana's lips once more as they begin to make out lazily, tongues sliding and massaging each other with intense emotion as their hands wander, gliding up smooth skin until their bodies are pressed together. There's literally nowhere else Santana would rather be right now. The way Brittany makes her feel is so terrifying, but so amazing and she doesn't know what the hell's going on between them, especially now, but _God, _everything about this moment is so perfect she doesn't want to ruin it.

"There's nothing I'd rather be doing," she mumbles against Brittany's mouth, "on a Friday night at 11 o'clock, then be right here," she licks her lips, tasting sweetness on them, "With you. And the new series of Desperate Housewives is on," she says playfully, nuzzling her nose to Brittany's.

Brittany giggles and Santana leans back down, shuffling until she's half on top of the blonde, leaning her weight onto one arm and keeping their fingers laced in the same position as before. Their lips meet again, brushing and worshipping each other gently like every kiss will be their last and Santana sighs, wondering how she's _this _lucky.

"Wait," the blonde shoots up, breaking their kiss and straightening her back - her blue eyes are wide and mouth open like someone just poked her in the ass with a fork. "What time?"

Confusion etches its way across Santana's features, scrunching her brows together and narrowing her eyes. "11… Why?"

"Shit!" Brittany jumps up off Santana, then from the bed completely stark naked. She bends down quickly, scrambling her fingers along the floor to hastily grab her clothes.

If it wasn't for the sudden worry and rejection flushing through her right now, Santana would probably have her head tilted to the side and admiring the view, _very _satisfied with the fact she gets to see the blonde like that. But there _is _intense worry and the sting of rejection spiking her body, because Brittany's now slipping into her leggings and grabbing a few bobby pins from the side table, slipping them into her hair and keep it in a neat pony after applying the band.

"What are you doing?" She pulls the sheet up to her chest as she sits up. Brittany's moving quickly around the room, grabbing her purse and searching frantically for something else whilst her hands are grabbing for the coat thrown across the arm chair in the corner.

"I was supposed," Brittany slips her arms into her coat and shrugs it on, pulling her hair out from where it was tucked between her jacket and shirt, "To meet Mike at 10."

Hurt seeps through Santana, attacking every fibre in her body whilst the feeling she can only relate to a wet fish slapping her round the face, aches her face. She frowns, scrunches her face together like doing that's going to make the jealous, betrayed feeling go away – but it won't. It's all there - jealous, heartbreak, disbelief. All of them are spiralling through her body, making her feel about two inches tall as Brittany slips into her shoes, frantically moving to escape her own damn apartment.

"Are you serious?" Santana asks in a half-hiss, "After what we just…" She looks down to the empty side of the bed next to her and swallows, suddenly feeling incredibly naked and not because of the lack of clothes. "You're seriously going to him?"

Brittany turns, eyes apologising for the mouth that can't. Their gazes only stay locked for about 2.2 seconds before Brittany averts her gaze, looking towards the door whilst guilt etches across her face. Santana flares her nostrils, gritting her teeth and feeling everything she knows the blonde once felt. But because of that knowledge, she knows what Brittany _didn't _do. Brittany didn't fight for her, but she's sure as hell going to fight for Brittany.

"I have too." Brittany replies, pulling another bobby pin out and holding it between her teeth as she stares at her reflection in the mirror applied to the back of the door.

Santana jerks from the bed, pulling the sheet with her as she spots her boxers on the floor. Keeping one eye on the blonde, she slips onto them, hastily pulling them up and quickly grabbing anything to cover up her chest. Her bra is the closest thing, so she grabs it and puts it on, clipping it quickly before lurching for the blonde, dropping the sheet to pool around her foot in the process.

"Britt," her fingers curl around a pale wrist as Brittany grabs the doorknob with her free hand, "What are you going to say to him?"

Brittany pauses, and the alarm bells start ringing loudly in Santana's ear when she doesn't hear a response. The way the muscles in Brittany's arm tense tells her that whatever the answer to that question is, isn't going to be good.

"Aren't you going to tell him?" Santana's voice is too high, and dripping with disbelief as her face scrunches up with hurt. "We just ma-"

"I know," Brittany cuts in, her voice to sharp to match her face. "But he's my fiancée."

"He's your fiancée," Santana repeats, not believing the words.

"I love him," Brittany says in the same way she would say _I'm sorry. _

Santana tilts her head to the side, blinking back the sudden heat in her eyes. "But you love me too," she says warily, suddenly taken aback by the flash behind blue eyes. "Don't you?"

Standing here, in front of the one person she trusts most in the world, the one person that she's now accepted to be madly in love with, with barely any clothing on, she feels so vulnerable and shy that wants to dive back into the bed and bury herself under thousands of blankets and covers.

"I have to go," Brittany says with finality in her tone, "I'm late already."

Santana steps away, arm dropping like she just touched piping hot metal. Each word shoots straight to her heart like they're stabbing her. They might as well be, though, at least that would be less painful than looking into blue eyes and seeing the turmoil whilst feeling the hurt she does.

"Fine," she growls, bending to pick up her jeans and shirt that are conveniently by her feet before moving past the door and trying to change on her way towards the front door, tripping over her pants on the way. She can hear footsteps behind her start when she reaches the living room and bites back the anger, feeling betrayed in every which way, despite knowing it's kind of hypocritical of her.

"San-"

"No!" Santana hisses grabbing her coat from the sofa and marching towards the door, suddenly remembering her shoes back in the bedroom. Her hand grabs for the door when fingers curl around her wrist like she did to Brittany before. Immediately, she snaps her hand away swinging the door open and stepping out into the air. "Like you said, Mike's waiting for you."

She doesn't even turn around to stare into the eyes burning a hole into the back of her skull as she slams the door shut, pulling the lapels of her jacket up and ignoring the fact she's walking the streets of New York City with no shoes on. She doesn't give a fuck anymore. There's only one place she knows to go and her muscles have already programmed in the location before she can tell them to lead her there, and shoes or no shoes, Barney's will be waiting with a friendly bottle of scotch or two.

* * *

><p>As per usual, Barney's is pretty dead. A few regular attempting to play pool with the broken cues in the back corner, and Boozy Von Drunk-A-Ton slumped over the counter to the far right of the bar. The smell of old beer and stale cigarettes burns through her nostrils, but she takes comfort in the fact it's familiar in a disgusting way, and that there's no way anyone can touch her in here. Santana rolls her eyes before settling onto her normal stool, tapping her bare feet against one of the bars holding her seat together as Will makes his way over.<p>

"Scotch?" He asks, throwing the dark white rag over his shoulder.

"Make it two."

Karofsky gave her the same strange look he always does when she walked in, but Will never seems too. It's nice for once, not being judged. There was only one other person that ever did that, but she's here _specifically _to _not _think about said person.

"Work?"

Santana shakes her head.

"Relationships?"

Santana grunts as her fingers curl around the first glass Will slides to her. "Fucking relationships," she chucks back the drink in one and grabs the second. "Fucking people. Fucking feelings."

"I'll get you another," he points towards the second empty glass, the one Santana forgot that she drunk through her cursing.

Santana blinks, "Bring the bottle."

"Santana…"

Her left hand clenches and slams against the countertop, "Schuster, bring me the damn bottle."

"Okay."

She's inwardly thanking him for not pushing any further and pours herself another glass when Will brings her over the bottle of Jack and leaves it with her, attending to the drunken ass that's just stumbled through the door.

Tonight, she's going to drink away her feelings. Tonight, she's going to pass out and not care where she ends up. Tonight, she's going to forget the fact she fucked up the best thing that's ever happened to her. Even if technically, it wasn't really her.

* * *

><p>It's fucked up, how someone can make you feel so special, and then two seconds later, make you feel like complete shit.<p>

How for one beautiful minute, you feel like you're hopping from cloud to cloud, flying and gliding without a care because one person makes you feel invincible, like you can do anything and nothing can touch you. But then the next minute, you're twirling and spiralling towards the ground with no hope, no parachute, and no safety net. There's nothing you can do except wait for the inevitable and brace yourself – even though no matter what extent you go to in preparation for the final crash, it's never quite enough.

Those are the last thoughts that run through Santana's mind before an arm wraps around her waist and tugs her towards the exit. She doesn't know who it is, but she doesn't really care. She may wake up tomorrow morning will a killer headache and a Styrofoam mouth, but the alcohol running through her system's dulling her sense and mind, and that's what she needs right now.

* * *

><p>Someone grabbing her legs wakes her up and she winces as her eyes crack open, face mushed into the pillow she's leaning on. Her head is banging, she needs a Lucozade like <em>yesterday <em>and if it wasn't for seeing the pillow intact, she'd think she spent last night munching on the damn thing seeing as her mouth is _that _dry.

"What the…" she whispers to herself, twisting until she can look down to the person pushing her legs aside. "Fabray?"

Quinn shoots her a _what? _look, but continues to munch on the bowl of cereal her hands are grasping. Santana shuffles, feeling the muscles and bones pop back into place as she curls up, bringing her legs to her chest and resting her head against the back of the couch.

"How the hell am I here?" She asks, trying to remember the journey here, or what actually happened after she finished a bottle of Jack Daniels and had to move onto Jim Bean because there wasn't any more. "What the hell am I doing here?" She groans into her hands, digging the heels into her eyeballs and trying to rub away the ache.

Quinn swallows her mouth and slides her eyes towards her, "You were being a drunken ass last night. Will found my number on your phone and called me."

"How did he," Santana flinches when she sways to the right and grips tightly onto the back, it feels like someone just tried to shove a parsnip through a ventricle in her brain. "Ow, _fuck. _How did he know to call you?"

"I was the second to last person you called," Quinn shrugs, leaning to place her bowl onto the table before turning fully, "And apparently you'd been slurring about a 'Brittany' and so he thought it'd be best _not _to call her."

Despite being slightly pissed that Will didn't refuse her service, even though she knows fully well how much she would've protested if he had done, she mentally notes to give him a card or something. _God knows _what would've happened if Brittany had turned up.

_Oh crap, _she thinks, eyes widening as she remembers last night, "Brittany."

"Yes…" Quinn frowns, "Brittany as in _your _Brittany."

"She's not my Brittany," Santana snaps, shocked by her own outburst.

Quinn narrows her eyes, and cocks an eyebrow. Santana can feel the examination going on as she ducks her head and looks around, and when she hears a sharp intake of breath she prepares herself. It was only a matter of time before Quinn found out anyway.

"You idiot!" Quinn leans over and delivers a sharp smack to the back of Santana's head, "What the hell!"

Santana winces - being slapped in the head whilst having the world's biggest hangover is _seriously _not fucking cool. Combination just doesn't work. "Fuck! Fabray!" she rubs the sore spot, and points to herself with the other hand, "Hangover!"

Quinn mimics the pointing motion and says, "Idiot!"

"I didn't do anything!" Santana goes for broke. Her bullshit's probably going to be called, but if she can try and get out of a lecture, she might as well give lying a go.

"Did you…" Quinn stands up, crossing her arms, whilst leaving one hand free to pinch the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Did you or did you not sleep with her?"

Santana opens her mouth to lie but nothing comes out. She snaps it shut immediately, clenching her jaw and drawing her legs closer like it's going to protect her from the verbal abuse she's probably about to receive. After a minute she slides her eyes up, watching different emotions flash across Quinn's face. Sympathy. Anger. Pity. She's not sure which one the blonde lands on but she doesn't even wait to give Quinn a chance.

"Look, Q," she breathes out, pressing her palm to her forehead, "I really don't need a lecture, okay?" She glances up, staring into hazel eyes, "I need a friend."

It's weird, because ever since she met Quinn and since they became friends - they've never done the whole girly bonding thing. Never wanted to paint each other's nails, braid their hair and talk hours upon hours about shoes and shopping. Sure, it's nowhere _near _that extreme, but it's still pretty emotional, and therefore pretty weird/girly.

She knows she puts up a strong front, pretending she doesn't care about most things, but when it comes to Brittany, she's never been able to hide herself for long. Something about the blonde makes her unravel like a ball of string. She can't explain it, and it's _really _fucking irritating considering she doesn't even have to be around Brittany to feel like this – but it's just how Brittany makes her feel. Like every one of her emotions are contradicting each other and spiralling her into a pit of confusion and heartache, but at the same time, it feels like she's free falling into nothing. But not a bad nothing, a peaceful nothing. A quiet, serene nothing that takes the weight off her chest.

_God, _it's so fucking hard to explain.

"Can you do that?" Santana hopes with raw emotion, "Please, just, be my friend?"

She waits, eyes focused on the hazel eyed blonde as the decision is made. It only takes a few seconds for it to be verbalised and _seriously, _thank God for Quinn fucking Fabray.

"Okay," Quinn says softly, "I'll be your friend. But I can't tell you anything more than I already have."

Santana knows that. Even if it doesn't comfort her at all, "I know, Q," she ducks her head, fighting the heat prickling her eyelids, "I know."

Quinn picks up her bowl, then pauses beside Santana and looks down with knowing hazel eyes. "The thing is," she breathes out, expression apologetic, "I don't think you do."

* * *

><p>She gets fed up with the mindless repeats of The L Word on TV, that she's been pretty much watching for two days straight and stands up, watching as Quinn eyes her movement.<p>

"Where are you going?" Quinn asks, sliding her mug of tea onto the coffee table.

Santana frowns, picking up her jacket and shrugging it on. "A walk, I need to clear my mind."

She sees the objection a second before her phone buzzes in her pocket and she takes it out, avoiding piercing hazel eyes and scans the screen. Her heart lodges in her throat when she sees Brittany's name on the screen, but heat pricks at the eyes and she slides down, noticing another unread text.

"Brittany and Sophie text me," she says monotonously.

Quinn's eyes widen, expression contorting with uncertainty like she's not sure how to react. "What did they say?"

Santana grits her teeth, "Haven't read either of them."

"Are you going too?"

She glances up, "I don't know." It's an honest answer, because she's not prepared to talk to either of them at the moment. Plus, considering there's only one text each, whatever they have to say clearly isn't that urgent.

"Okay," Quinn leans back into the sofa, "Well just remember what you said."

Santana frowns, "What?"

"You said you wouldn't hurt her."

Something resembling anger drops in her stomach and she grits her teeth, nostrils flaring. "_I'm _not hurting her, Fabray," she bites back; "_She's_ the one that fucked off back to Mike."

"Kind of like how you fucked off back to Sophie?" Quinn retorts, a knowing expression crossing her face.

Santana shakes her head, knowing she's in the wrong but clamps the anger down. Quinn's only saying the truth, but as she knows, the truth hurts. She bites down hard on her bottom lip because lashing out is only going to make things worse, especially because she's not really lashing out at Quinn, she's lashing out at herself – just at someone else.

"I'm going out;" she says monotonously, "Don't know when I'll be back."

"I'm not picking you off the floor again, Lopez."

Santana turns, "Didn't ask you to the first time."

Her legs lead her for the door, willing her to exit but not before she hears, "Stop being an ass and remember, it's more difficult for her than it is for you."

She exits, shaking her head all the way to the elevator. Sometimes she really fucking hates Quinn.

* * *

><p>It's like encoded in her muscles or something, because before she knows it she's standing outside Barney's again, phone clasped in hand and eyes focused on the neon sign half-hanging off the building.<p>

It's been two days since Quinn picked her off the floor, and she hasn't been back since. Alcohol was never going to be a permanent solution for her heartache and after Quinn pretty much slapped that knowledge into her, she obliged and refused to leave the apartment - knowing the urge would be too much. So it was pretty surprising thinking back to her earlier leave and how easily Quinn let her go.

_Oh well, _doesn't matter. She's out now.

A hand settles on her shoulder, pressing lightly and she basically jumps out her skin. Whipping her head around, her eyes narrow immediately and bile bubbles at the back of her throat.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She bites out, teeth gritting together.

Emerald eyes shine at her, "I just came to talk to you," Sophie offers, trying to plead but failing miserably.

Santana feels her lip curl. "And you think I'd want to talk to you because…"

"Because although we didn't exactly end on the best of terms-" Santana scoffs, "We still have to talk about our divorce."

She almost wants to smile at the urgency in her wife's tone, because it's clear that the lack of feelings about it aren't only felt by her. She growls anyway, cocking an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest, "What about it?" She sneers.

Sophie's eyes narrow, a sniff following. "Can we go inside?" She gestures to Barney's, "Have a drink and talk properly?"

Santana doesn't know whether she can actually handle Sophie for longer than half an hour, but she bites down the back to snap and nods anyway. She hates herself enough without having someone hate her _more - _even if it does come in the form of her cheating bitch of a wife. Hopefully soon to be ex as long as she can bite back the urge to yell at Sophie.

"Fine," she shakes her head, scuffing her shoe along the floor as her hands dig deep into her pockets, "One drink. One discussion. One chance."

Sophie nods and reaches out, the back of her knuckles grazing Santana's cheek. "Thank you, Santana."

She wants to pull away, jerk and yell, but she's so down at the moment that even a stupid gesture like that makes her feel the slightest bit better. To say she's lonely would be putting it mildly. She hasn't been single for going on two years, and it's pathetic, and pretty desperate, and she sure as hell knows what Quinn would do to her if she was here – but she now she's gained some sort of perspective, and being married to someone leaves you with some sort of feeling. So she just gives in.

"Come on then," she says softly before tugging Sophie in by the hand. "Get this over and done with."

* * *

><p>It's dark by the time they leave. Santana refused to drink anything bar a single beer, and Sophie just drank whatever shitty cocktail she felt like. They talked, reminisced and despite the intense dislike she has for her soon to be ex-wife, Santana couldn't help but feel slightly sad at their parting.<p>

Sure, Sophie cheated on her, and she _really _needs to strap on a pair, but there was a reason they stayed together, because whilst they may not be soul mates, there were _some _feelings there. Even if they didn't exactly last long, and the fact that all along Santana was madly in love with Brittany, despite not quite knowing it.

She's such a thick shit for not realising it sooner. Could've saved a hell of a lot of trouble if she'd opened her fucking eyes.

"Well," Sophie claps her gloved hands together, breathing out into the chilled air of New York, "I guess this is it."

Santana lifts the divorce papers up, eyes flicking towards their signatures at the bottom of the page. "Yeah," she breathes out, the finality of their divorce settling in. "Pretty quick."

"Guess you saw it coming."

She nods, because _yeah, _she did see it coming. Judging by the look on Sophie's face, she did too. Signing divorce papers two days after discovering adultery is ridiculously quick, but this is probably one of the things Santana's never been more sure about. Hell, she was less sure about getting married and jumped into that fucking quickly – but then again, she had made out with her best friend and started to doubt her feelings before the damn ceremony – so that could've been a contributing factor, freaking her out and making her do something irrational.

All in all, she guesses she works the wrong way. The surer she is about something, the slower she jumps into it. Well, two days isn't exactly slow, but it's pretty lengthy considering those papers have been sitting in her apartment for around a month.

_God, _she doesn't even know what she's talking about anymore.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," Sophie shrugs, eyes welling up.

Santana smiles weakly, "Yeah. Might see you around," she jokes, trying to lighten the situation.

"Doubt it," Sophie shakes her head. "I'm moving to California in a month."

"California?"

"Yeah, there's a modelling agency there and they offered me a small job."

She wants to scoff, but instead she just steps forward, rubbing her palms up Sophie's arms as a silent _congratulation_s. "That's brilliant, Soph. Glad Puck finally did something useful."

Sophie seems uneasy by the mention of his name, but she just purses her lips and nods. "Yeah, well he can't model at the moment because he's missing four teeth and his jaw's swollen."

A grin, wider than it should be, spreads across Santana's face and she lets out a small laugh, pointing to herself. "Me?"

"Yeah," Sophie nods. "You _really _did a number on him."

Santana clenches her jaw mockingly. "He deserved it."

"He did."

She glances around, body twisting as her eyes flicker up to the neon sign hanging above. If it wasn't dramatic enough, tiny rain droplets start sprinkling over her face and she blinks against them, laughing to herself because that's _such _a fucking cliché. When she looks down, she sees emerald eyes beaming at her and suddenly it's like she's way too close. Her legs step back, eyes widening because she knows _that _look only too well.

"Sop-"

Lips press against hers before she can finish the name and she freezes, lips unmoving as Sophie's slide against them. Fingers curl into her hair but she braces herself against Sophie's shoulders when her brain finally kick-starts once more, and she practically shoves her soon to be ex-wife away, face contorting with anger and disgust.

She just scoffs, fighting the urge to puke or possible drown her lips in bleach and digs her hands into her pockets, stepping away whilst her head shakes from side to side.

"And I thought we could end on a friendly note," she bites, barging past and heading back towards Quinn's.

Her eyes flicker up the street just in time to gage the person standing around twenty yards ahead, blue eyes wide and flashing with hurt. She opens her mouth, urging herself to yell as her head whips back to her wife but of course, Brittany's gone by the time she turns back around.

There's no reason she should be feeling guilty. But that doesn't stop her from feeling what she does. She spins on her heels, storming back towards Barney's with her fists clenched and throat urging for alcohol.

Fuck the no drinking rule. She just wants to forget all this shit.

* * *

><p><strong>Thoughts please?<strong>


	19. chapter nineteen

**The amount of reviews I get for my chapters now are like friggin' unbelievable. I can't even explain how grateful I am guys, and I love that you love this! Just _yeah._**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong>If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Nineteen]  
><strong>Rating:<strong>M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>8k

* * *

><p>The last thing she expects as she steps over the threshold, with Karofsky holding the door open for her, is for someone to yank on her wrist and tug her back out. She snaps her head around, scowl fixed on her face until she gages who exactly is preventing her from drinking.<p>

"Can I help you?" Santana asks, tugging her arm back as Karofsky eyes them warily from where they're standing – half in and half out of the bar.

Brittany looks at her dejectedly and for the first time in like, _ever_, her usually bright blue eyes are cold and hard. It makes Santana want to curl up into a ball or wrap her arms around her best friend to try and make them go away. They're like a nightmare she can't wake up from.

"What are you doing?"

Brown eyes slide in the direction of the bar and back again, "What does it _look _like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're becoming an alcoholic."

The way Brittany says it makes Santana think she was trying not to say _looks like you're becoming your mother_ and it stings. She's never wanted that and it's kind of a daunting realization. "Since when do you care what I do?"

Brittany narrows her eyes in disbelief and a small scoff escapes her lips, "I _always _care what you do."

"Right," Santana scuffs her shoe along the floor and remembers Karofsky's watching them, but it doesn't deter her. "So you care what I do, but you don't care when you fuck off back to Mike and hurt me in the process? Physical torture through alcohol is better than emotional from you, yeah?" She looks up as the words leave her mouth and even though inside she's regretting them, she keeps her features straight like she means them.

"Santana," Brittany exhales quickly, eyes flashing with hurt. "I'm not _trying _to hurt you."

"Not doing a very good job of it then," Santana cocks a brow, "Are you?"

Brittany dips her gaze, chin tucking to her chest whilst her head shakes. "I actually came here to talk to you. But if you're going to be like this then I don't think I really want too."

"Aw," Santana faux coos, ignoring the way the tone racks at her brain to stop. "Did I ruin your plan of letting me down softly? _Damn,_" she clucks her tongue, "Such I shame I fucked that one up. Guess you'll just have to run along to little _Mikey_ and I'm sure he'll make you feel _all _better." Venom and hurt drip off every word and she swallows thickly, knowing just how far past the line she's gone. Defence mechanisms are a bitch.

Brittany flinches, her fists clenching by her thighs as her nostrils flare, eyes locking with brown. It's like an evening of firsts, because now her eyes have transformed from cold and hard to fiery and painful. Santana actually has to look away to make sure she doesn't crumble, fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness. Pain does this to her. Makes her walls come up and makes her lash out. She really fucking wishes she could blame this on alcohol, but there's zero in her bloodstream at the moment – so it's just down to her being an aggressive bitch.

_Fuck._ She's really screwed this one up.

Brittany sucks in a deep breath, then lets out a very _not _amused laugh and shakes her head, lifting her eyes from Santana's to the area around them like she can't actually believe what she just heard. "Okay, Santana. Okay." she says, blue eyes glossing over with unshed tears. She turns on her heel, crossing her arms and sucking in her quivering bottom lip as she begins to walk away, back turned.

Santana does nothing, ignoring the way the sight of Brittany walking away clenches at her heart, twists around her lungs and makes her want to bash her head against a brick wall several times, _hard. _She fucking hates herself, but she's so fucking stubborn and so hurt that she just stands there, arms by her side, eyes locked on a blonde head of hair as she watches Brittany walk away – there friendship going down the drain by her right foot.

When Brittany turns the corner, and disappears out of sight, Santana feels the weather change and almost like God was expecting it, sky clouds over to a dark shade of grey and it looks like it's about to piss down with rain. Apparently she's the fucking weather woman. So instead of waiting, she ducks her head, glad that the rain hides the lone tear that trails down her cheek and heads inside – trying not to think about how she just lost everything good in her pathetic fucking life.

* * *

><p>By the time she slips onto her regular stool, butt moulding into the printed cushion, she doesn't feel like drinking anymore. About a second ago, she dug out her phone and deleted Brittany's text without reading it out of retaliation or whatever the hell she felt. She's still pissed that Sophie kissed her, that Brittany thinks she has the right to be mad after witnessing that event, even after she fucked off back to Mike after they… Well, did <em>that, <em>and that she doesn't have the will do drink anything.

The last thing she needs is to become a fucking alcoholic like her bloody mother. And _yeah, _she hasn't quite taken up smoking full time, but considering the way her throat is burning and yearning for a cigarette, she doesn't want to drink _and _smoke, because really? That'd just make her a great big fucking cliché.

Will eyes her from the end of the bar, but she just drops her head to the counter and ignores the way his eyes silently scan her, deciphering whether she needs a scotch or a beer. She doesn't need another person lecturing her or trying to read her feeling – so up go the walls. She hears footsteps come up and begins to flinch but then the overwhelming scent of male cologne wafts through her nostrils and her face scrunches because she knows who it is.

Seriously, Will must like _drown _himself in a bottle a day.

It's rude, and she knows that, but she still pushes away from the counter, the legs of the stool scraping along the concrete and stands. Without even sparing a single glance towards the bartender, she shoves her hands in her pockets and stalks towards the door, chin tucked to her chest. She doesn't want to be here.

The air is strangely damp when she opens the door, and she immediately pulls the lapels of her jacket up, tucking them by her neck when she realizes it's fucking raining. It's kind of calming in a _my life is a dark abyss _kind of way, because it's like the weather is changing with her emotions. She feels down, the weather is shit. Each droplet of rain is like a mocking laughter to her skin and her eyes drift upward, blinking against it as she lets out an insincere, _really? _kind of chuckle aimed straight back as a silent _fuck you world._

Quinn will probably be at her apartment, and considering its night-time, the chances of walking in on Berry with her tongue shoved down Fabray's throat or hand stuck down up one of Berry's hilarious collections of ugly argyle skirt are pretty high – she doesn't feel like going back. It'll only be a baseball bat to the heart, but it's not like she has anywhere else to go. So she heads back anyway.

She knows she should apologise to Brittany, but there's something stubborn inside of her fighting the knowledge. She's hurting, she's in pain, so why the hell should she apologise for just saying the truth? Even if the image of Brittany's face contorting with hurt makes her want to punch herself. Plus, Brittany doesn't have any hold on Santana. _Brittany's _the one that's engaged. _Brittany's _the one that came to hurt her, and then waltz off back to _Mr-I-Can-Dance-Ridiculously-Well _in all his Asian glory.

So as far as Santana's concerned, she can do whatever the hell she wants - even if she _really _didn't want Sophie kissing her or to hurt Brittany. She's only doing what Brittany's doing to her.

* * *

><p>Two blocks later and she's outside Quinn's apartment, staring up at building without a clue why she's not heading straight inside. The back of her eyes ache and she blinks as raindrops drip down her face, trailing down her cheeks and lingering at the corners of her jaw. Her phone buzzes and she digs it out, staring at the picture of Quinn glaring up at her mockingly.<p>

"What?" She growls into the phone as she answers.

Quinn doesn't hesitate as she responds in a similar tone, "Get up here. Now."

Santana doesn't ask how Quinn knows she's outside, but instead heads inside, not bothering with the lift as she heads up the single flight of stairs and down the hallway towards Quinn's apartment. Surprisingly enough, Rachel isn't there when she slips the spare key into the lock and enters. It's just Quinn, standing behind the sofa with a cocked eyebrow, crossed arms and _you fucking douchebag _scribbled on her forehead.

"Want to tell me why you were with Sophie?" Quinn snipes.

Santana rolls her eyes, turning her back to the blonde to shut the door. "Good fucking evening to you too, Fabray. Nice of you to let me take my coat off before you start lecturing me about whatever the fuck I've done this time."

Quinn scoffs, "Drop the 'poor me' act, Lopez. And why the fuck were you with Sophie?"

"We were signing the divorce papers," Santana spins, brown eyes sharp as they lock with hazel. "She turned up at Barney's and I didn't really fucking feel like being married much longer, so the sooner the better. Happy?"

"No," the blonde shakes her head, "You're a stupid bitch."

Santana practically barges past Quinn as she makes her way to the kitchen; now feeling like a drink is in order. "What the hell did I do this time?"

"You didn't notice Brittany standing up the street, watching you two?"

She sucks in her lips, holding back the sharp gasp as guilt pants her chest. Reaching for the cupboard, she grabs the bottle of Jack in the top right hand corner and then a glass from the cupboard beside it. But Quinn's right there, snatching the bottle out of her grasp and holding it an arm's length away, eyes scowling at Santana.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Quinn hisses, narrowing her eyes. "You're just drinking away your problems now?"

Santana grits her teeth, "Fuck off, Fabray."

Quinn's never seemed daunting, or even the slightest bit scary, but with narrowed eyes that somehow manage to be scarily wide at the same time, Santana finds her shoulders deflating as she looks up at the blonde. Quinn's only a few inches taller, but right now it feels it feels like a hell of a lot more.

"No," Quinn jabs her in the chest with her free hand, "You're in my fucking apartment and I'm not going to let you turn into your mother."

Santana snaps her head around, standing up tall until their noses are touching and her mouth is seething, with comical steam blowing out her ears. Family's always been a touchy subject, and now especially coming from someone who's only been in her life a couple of months – yes, who's also been great to her too, but none the less, a few months – is just taking the piss. Even Brittany talking about it is a sore subject.

"Too far," she hisses through clenched teeth, "You're on thin fucking ice, Fabray."

Quinn smirks knowingly, "And what are you going to do? Punch me? Like you did with Puck?"

"Quinn…" Santana warns, backing away slowly and lowering her voice. The irrational urge to punch someone or something is surging down her arm and it's only a matter of seconds before it takes over and there's a fist shaped hole in the dry wall behind Quinn, or in Quinn's face.

"No," Quinn starts again, "I didn't think so. So now answer me," she takes another step forward towards Santana, "Did you or did you not see Brittany up the street?"

"No," she says, lifting an eyebrow and attempting to calm her anger, "I didn't see her."

"Then why did you kiss Sophie?"

For the first time, Santana actually realizes what Quinn means and her face scrunches together, half with disgust and half with offence. "Are you actually inferring that I'd kiss Sophie in front of Brittany, just to upset her?"

The blonde stays silent for a long moment, then shrugs and says, "I don't know. You tell me."

Santana begins to pace around the blonde, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. Fury bubbles in the back of her throat and many Spanish curses her cousins taught her in 8th grade begin to form on the tip of her tongue. She tries to convince herself that yelling at Quinn would only make her situation worse, because, well, _it would – _seeing as she'd have no-one left to talk too, and no-where to live – and instead focuses on her answer.

"First of all," she flicks one finger up on her free hand, the other still attached to her face, "_I _didn't kiss Sophie. She kissed me and I pushed her away."

Quinn opens her mouth but Santana stops her by flicking up another finger. "Secondly, I would _never _intentionally hurt Britt," the words hurt as they come out because she knows as much as she'd like to believe that were true – there's plenty of evidence gathered over the past few months to prove that thesis wrong. "Again," she adds, because knowing Quinn _that'll _come up to bite her in the ass.

"And thirdly," this time her eyes flicker up and she swallows thickly, looking into fiery hazel eyes. "I don't really see how you can defend Brittany when she fucked off back to Mike after what happened between me and her, or how you can get all up in _my_ grill," she slams her palms to her chest, emphasizing her words and letting some of the anger loose through her actions, "because she saw me kissing my soon to be ex-wife when she's fucking engaged and was only there to reject the shit out of me. She didn't seem to bothered when I told her to run back to Mike after she yanked me out of Barney's."

She takes a step closer and grabs the bottle out of Quinn's hand, before spinning back towards the glass still on the counter. A bloom of satisfaction powering through her body when she manages to pour herself a glass without any interruptions, and after throwing back the liquid, ignoring the burn at her throat, she turns back and waits expectantly.

"Didn't you check your phone?"

That's literally the last thing she expected to hear, and something sinks in the pit of her stomach as she takes in the way Quinn's staring at her – brows furrowed, lips parted and eyes confused. "What?"

Quinn lets out a small laugh, and then smacks her palm to her forehead, rubbing it from side to side. "You have got to be kidding me," she says, mostly to herself, "You're literally one of the _biggest _dumbasses I know, Santana, if not _the _biggest."

Santana's head jerks back and the grip around the glass tightens, "Yeah, go ahead and insult me, Fabray. That's going to help."

Her hand moves to pour another scotch when a pale wrist wraps around her wrist tugging until the bottle can't reach the tumbler. "Brittany broke up with Mike you _ass," _Quinn exhales sharply through her nose, "And she came to find _you _when she saw you with your tongue stuck down Sophie's throat."

All the blood drains out of Santana's face and she doesn't even bother looking up, instead focusing her gaze on nothing in front of her. It's not like she's blind, but her vision is temporarily disabled because her minds racing a mile a minute with different possibilities.

"Wh-what?" She stammers out, gulping heavily.

Quinn lets her wrist go and crosses her arms, "Brittany text you earlier, which I'm assuming you _didn't _look at." Santana nods, mind flicking back to the short memory of her deleting the text whilst storming into Barney's. "And she rang me to see where you were because you hadn't replied. I told her you were probably at Barney's, and she explained the whole thing to me. But _of course _you," she jabs her finger towards Santana, "had to fuck it up, didn't you. You couldn't even tell the damn woman you were in love with her, and instead stormed out her fucking apartment and then stuck your tongue down Sophie's throat not only two days later."

Santana shakes her head in disbelief, her mouth gaping open without any words coming out. There's something resembling hope and relief flushing through her body, but at the same time she can't really make sense of what Quinn's saying. One lousy text isn't enough for the duration of two days, but what did the text even say? _Christ, _it could've been an ultimatum like _"if you don't reply I'll assume you don't love me" _or some shit like that. And Santana _fucking deleted it_. Wow, she really _is _a dumbass.

"She was going back to Mike, and she only sent me one text…" She mutters, mostly to herself even though her mind's already processed the thought.

Quinn cocks her hip against the kitchen counter next to Santana, whose now bracing herself against it, palms flat on the surface with the bottle of Jack and glass in front of her. "That's because you have no idea what that text said, do you?"

Santana feels guilt pang at her chest, "No," she drops her head further in defeat, "I deleted it."

"Well then you don't know that she said this…" Quinn digs out her phone, tapping away for a second or two before sliding it across the counter in front of Santana where it stares up at her dauntingly.

_I don't love him like I love you. Meet me at Barney's. Please. – B xxx_

She lifts her gaze from the text, suddenly feeling like the biggest douchebag in the world as her heart plummets out her ass. If she'd just checked that fucking text, just opened that one instead of Sophie's she could be curled up on a sofa with Brittany in her arms. _God, _she fucking hates herself sometimes.

"You two need to stop acting like fucking teenagers," Quinn steps forward and stares at Santana with annoyance flashing behind hazel eyes, "And you need to stop playing the victim and drinking yourself away because that's not going to get you anywhere, except a date with a stomach pump at the hospital."

She would flinch, but it's just the truth. All the drinking was just to gain her strength back, or to try and recover from whatever emotional turmoil was going in on her head. She said to herself she'd fight for Brittany. She told herself she wouldn't run and what did she do? Run and then drink herself with hopes of disappearing into oblivion? _Pathetic. _

Sure, they're both as bad as each other, but Brittany did what she couldn't do. Brittany broke up with Mike, and Santana just assumed she was running back to him with open arms. Yeah, she was hurting, but she knows Brittany better than that.

_God, _she's such a fucking ass.

"I need to see her," Santana says, resolutely.

A small smile cracks at the side of Quinn's lips as she nods. "Yeah, you do."

"No," Santana shakes her head, feeling her heart beat quicken as she feels the blood rush to her head. "I need to see her now and tell her."

Quinn walks towards the front door, a small smile on her face as she grabs the handle and opens it. "Then why the fuck are you still standing here with me?" She grins wider and gestures with one hand out the door.

Santana sends Quinn a quick smile before bolting out the door, faster than you can say _go._

* * *

><p>She's pretty sure that even when her neighbour's dog, Salty, chased her down the street after she climbed over the Laney households fence, she didn't run this fast. Her legs are pumping, the wind and rain whipping at her face as she sprints down random streets, muscles encoded with the path to Brittany's apartment.<p>

There's barely any oxygen left in her lungs, and her throat is burning from the sudden burst of exercise and adrenaline, but she won't stop. For so long she's been waiting for this moment, to tell Brittany how she feels. All this time she's been wallowing in her self-pity, drinking herself away and hurting over something that wasn't true. Brittany didn't want Mike. Brittany fucking broke up with Mike, and as far as Santana can assume, it was for her.

And she was nothing but rude, rejecting Brittany and hurting her even though she said she wouldn't.

Her heart's beating wildly as she corners the final road, Brittany's apartment coming into eye shot. She slows to a fast jog, rubbing at her throat like it'll make the ache go away and takes a quick glance around to see if anyone's out. There isn't anyone.

It's like night, like 11pm or something and it's fucking raining. Not those stupid little droplets of rain, but full on pelting, up to the point where she can barely see through the drips on her face and her clothing - which now she notes consists of a grey t-shirt and skinny jeans because she forgot her coat at Quinn's, _fuck _she's going to be cold soon – is weighing her down because it's soaked to the core.

Her feet pause when she gets to the stoop of Brittany's apartment. She's been here so many times, and yet it feels like the first as the door stares down at her mockingly. Sure, she had this big plan to make her love known to Brittany on the run over here – but now the time has come, she doesn't have a fucking clue what she's going to say.

Bending over, pressing her hands to her knees and trying to catch her breath, she ponders the coming situation.

Does she say _I love you, _or does she wait till the door opens and kiss Brittany with everything she has? _Fuck, _she's never had to think about confessing her love for her best friend, and now it's been such a long time coming – what if she fucks it up? It seems she fucks up every other aspect in her life, so the chances of screwing _this _one up big time – is pretty damn high.

Images of Brittany's possible reactions flicker from her mind, initially starting with her different smiles, and then to disappointed expressions and so on. _Fuck, _what if she's been such a bitch that Brittany turns around and rejects her? What if she's fucked this up, before it's even begun?

_Damn it. _She's such a fucking douche bag.

Standing in soaking wet clothing and damp hair, sticking to her face and clothing, she decides to go for broke and climbs the stairs, feeling her heart beat tenfold as her foot meets the flat patio at the top of them. She glances down to her outfit, realizing she's just as bad as she thought – because sometimes you think you look worse than you actually do, but _no, _she really _does _look like a fucking drowned rat – and glides her palms down the front, smoothing out the fabric like it's going to enhance her overall appearance.

It won't.

Her eyes flicker up to the rain next, blinking as the heavy drops splatter over her face and it kind of relaxes her. Because even if this goes terribly wrong, she can spend the rest of the night, moping around the streets, feeling sorry for herself for a _legitimate _reason – and not one that turns out to be fake. _God, _she really needs to grow a pair of fucking balls and man up.

When did she turn into such an emotional wreck?

Shakily, she runs her fingers through heavily dampened hair and tries to smooth some of the knots before reaching out and lingering over the small buzzer next to the door. Brittany's name stands out like it's highlighted in neon lights, and she gulps heavily. She's never been this fucking nervous before, and now she doesn't know why she thought coming over here at night, after insulting Brittany and being a complete _bitch, _was a good idea.

There's a part of her that says _love does funny things to people_ – but she tries to ignore it. She may be a complete emotional mess, but she's definitely not a sap.

It's now or never.

At the last minute, she ditches ringing the doorbell and instead rubs her face quickly, burying her nose into the palm of her hands before lurching out and rapping on the door three times. Her knees are quivering with nerves and it feels like her stomachs about to drop out her ass, and heart beat straight out her chest. It's like the feeling before you go on a rollercoaster. You're not entirely sure what's to come, you have an idea, but it still makes you uneasy. And waiting in the fucking queue on makes the feeling ten million times worse.

To say Santana's nervous would be a _massive_ understatement.

She feels her palms slide together due to sweat as she claps them together, heels turning so she faces the street, back towards the door as her toes meet the edge of the top step so there's at least a metre between her and the apartment entrance. The thought of how long it would take to get out of sight before the door opens does pass through her mind, but it quickly disappears when the sound of a lock clicking open rings through her ears – louder than it should do.

Scrunching her face up one final time, and sucking in a heavy breath, she turns, and then there's Brittany, standing in the doorway, looking ridiculously beautiful in sweat pants, a tank top, hair curly around her shoulders and no make-up on. It almost makes Santana forget why she's here.

They both stay silent for long moments, just staring at each other and feeling the sight of the unfamiliar atmosphere of confusion, hurt and anger lingering around them. It's horrible, to feel like this around her best friend, but she knows it's mostly from her doing.

"What are you doing here, Santana?" Brittany breathes out, breaking the silence as her head tilts slowly and temple rests against the door jam.

The way she says it curls around Santana's wind pipe because it makes her sound like she's tired. Not from lack of sleep, or fatigue, but because she's tired of Santana's bullshit and tired of being hurt repeatedly. That thought hurts more than any words Santana can predict coming from Brittany's mouth.

The idea of walking away and erasing the possibility of causing any more damage quickly seeps into her mind, and she thinks that maybe this was a _horrible _idea and it would be better to leave. But her heart's telling her not to. Her head's saying that too, but there's a rational, protective part inside of her that's just yelling _tell her! _So she sucks in a deep breath and closes her eyes.

"Brittany," she starts, fingers wringing together in front of her whilst she feels herself mentally curl into a ball, "You have fives smiles." It's not exactly what she was planning to say, but as long as it goes the way she's planning, she's sure it'll do _something._

"San…" Brittany says, her brows scrunching together as she shakes her head.

Santana opens her eyes, stepping forward the slightest bit as her eyes plead with the blonde. "No, please?" She asks, waiting until Brittany nods to continue. "Okay…"

Everything comes down to this moment. She can feel it in the air, she can feel it in her mind, and she can feel it in her heart. She can feel it in the way Brittany's looking at her, and the way Brittany goes silent, even though she's secretly hopeful. The pressure is almost too much, but she won't cave – not unless Brittany gives her a reason too. She purses her lips into an 'o' shape and breathes out slowly, trying increasingly hard to slow her racing pulse before she starts.

"The first smile is when something really makes you laugh-" she rolls her eyes at herself but then focuses them on the floor – the nerves still too much for her to look into blue eyes boring into her skull. "-obviously. Your lips part and your eyes sparkle like they've just been polished, then you let out this heavenly throaty giggle." Her eyes flicker up quickly, not quite meeting Brittany's gaze.

"Like the time when I told you that joke about the fastest cake being a scone?"

Brittany only gives a small smile, but casts her eyes down like she's hurting from the memory. Santana feels her heart skip a beat, panicked, and her mouth drops open as she quickly spills out her next words.

"The second smile is when you're excited. Your cheeks rise and you get a small little crinkle above your right eyebrow, because your face is slightly scrunched up from your wide grin." Once again, her eyes flicker up as she thinks of an example. "Like the time I told you we were going to the same college," she elaborates, eyes rising with hope, "that kind of smile."

But still, blue eyes focus on the concrete beneath Santana's feet and she shuffles, feeling more and more uncomfortable with the lack of response. Running away would be a hell of a lot easier than continuing, but when has life ever been easy when you want something?

"The third is when you're shy," Brittany looks up this time, blue eyes locking with brown quickly before glancing away. There's no aggression flashing behind them, or any emotion actually. _Fuck._ Santana's courage is slowly slipping, bit by bit, word by word. This seriously wasn't a good idea. "It's not really a smile, but to me it is. You get a little blush that tinges your ears and your eyes beam like someone just shined a light on them. You bite on your bottom lip because you're nervous and it's like you want to take the compliment, but you don't know how."

The words come out as a ramble and Santana finds herself unable to stop. "Like the first time I told you, you were beautiful back in 8th grade. Do you remember?" Brittany twists her head and then nods, exhaling heavily. "When you were in your mom's yoga pants, a SpongeBob t-shirt and your reading glasses."

Santana can't help but smile at the memory, her insides fluttering and flipping as she relates it to the current outfit Brittany's wearing.

_Jesus Christ_, she never thought this many butterflies could be in her stomach. It feels like millions of hopeful and nervous ones, and then a couple are lingering around at the bottom – making her want to lean over the railing and puke. _Gross, _but she's fucking nervous.

Brittany bites her bottom lip, and Santana gulps audibly, before inching forward the smallest bit, hands still twisting in front of her. "The fourth is mostly out of politeness. Your lips don't part, and the corners of your mouth tug up a little. It doesn't reach your eyes, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one that can see that smile." She ducks her head, eyes searching for blue that refuse to look at her. This is fucking hopeless. "Like the time at my Abuelito's funeral, when my cousin Tommy asked you why you were the only white one there? Remember?"

This time, Brittany lets out a small laugh and continues to bite her bottom lip. Santana narrows her eyes, slowly, and that means _very _slowly, she's breaking Brittany's anger and when a surge of confidence flows through her, she closes the gap between them until her body is merely inches away. That's when the blonde finally lifts her gaze, locking eyesight with Santana's and brings up the next smile, the _final _smile that takes her breath away almost every time.

"And then you have that one," Santana brings her hand up, finger pointing towards her best friend's face, "The fifth one." She lowers her hand, sucks in her lips and tilts her head, "When you're looking at me."

Brittany's face falls slightly, her blue eyes widening with fear and Santana breathes in deeply. This really is fucking happening and even though the fear is rejection because she's declaring her love is burning through her, she suddenly doesn't feel like she _can't _do it. Something's raring inside of her, cheering her on and she purses her lips one final time, eyes fluttering shut as she prepares herself for the final part of her speech.

"Your eyes sparkle like sapphires," she opens her eyes, "and only one side of your mouth pulls up, but it doesn't matter." She shrugs a little, her hands turning until she can open her palms and she flexes her fingers to emphasize her words, "Because it's like there's no-one else in the room. Even if it's filled with hundreds of people, you look at me and do that smile, and they all disappear." She shrugs again, "It's just me and you."

The pale hand leaning on the door drops, and Brittany crosses her arms over her chest – one of her protection methods to keep herself from hurting. Santana knows this - because she's been a grade A student in Brittany-ology since the age of seven, and nothing's ever going to change that – and keeps herself steady, knowing Brittany needs time to adjust to the situation.

"Wh-wha..." Brittany shuffles underneath Santana's gaze, breathing out and shaking her head like she's not even entirely sure what she's saying. Blue eyes flicker up and a wave of satisfaction flushes through Santana because she can see the softness behind them. Brittany pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, then squeezes her eyes shut as she says, "What are you trying to say, Santana?"

The tone in Brittany's voice makes her think she wants to rush this. But it's hard. It's _really _fucking hard for Santana to put herself on the line like this. To the one person who was always there, the one person who could literally crush her world in the palm of her hand because not only does she own Santana's heart, but she owns her friendship, her soul, her spirit.

People say falling in love with your best friend is like setting the friendship on fire. But to her, that means that eventually the fire will perish, and she will be left as careless ash, lifeless and grey. If she says everything she means in this moment, to Brittany, her love and her best friend, she's giving Brittany the ability to make her world, or break it into a thousand, million, tiny little pieces. But now, staring into deep blue eyes, and taking deep breaths in herself, she realizes just how okay she is with that.

_God, _she can't believe she's finally saying this.

"I love you," Santana clenches her jaw at how naturally the words flow out her mouth. "And I'm pretty sure I always have. But I just..." she blinks once, twice, taking matching breaths in and feeling the deepest darkest crevices of her hearts opening up. "I think I've been trying to avoid it for so long because..." she licks her lips, "loving you scares the crap out of me. You're the one person in this world that can make or break me and to give you that power, after you left to go to Mike after we..." she trails off when she sees Brittany wince. "I just couldn't." Santana shrugs, remembering the text and stepping closer so there hands brush against one another. "So I deleted that text you sent – because I didn't want to be this vulnerable."

Brittany tilts her head, lip tugging between pearly whites and narrows her eyes like she's trying to comprehend what the hell's going on. There's nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing and the small pitter patter of rain around them, but even if there were more, she doubts they'd be able to hear it. This moment is too intense, and too emotional to have any outside factors disturbing it. Then again, she thinks, this is her, and she's pretty sure the world would work against her just to make sure this moment fucked up.

Combined with the expression on Brittany's face that looks like she's deciding which way would be easier to pull the trigger on Santana's emotional gun which is aimed straight at her heart, she debates her possibilities. She could recoil, she could curl up and run away, heart far behind her and tail between her legs, and she wouldn't be any wiser. Her heart would never be complete, and she's pretty sure she'd hurt for eternity without Brittany by her side – but it doesn't stray her from continuing. She needs this.

Might as well give it all she has, when it's all she has left.

"But then Quinn showed me what it said..."

Brittany's eyes widen, "I thought you sai-"

"I know I've been the biggest ass in the world," she flickers up to see the slight flash of acknowledgement behind blue eyes and a small smile cracks at her lips, "But if you'll have me, I'm willing to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, even though I can never take back all the pain I've caused. I've been so afraid of telling you how I feel, and I know I waited too long , but everything happened so fast with you and Mike and it's terrible for me to say it now, but the events that happened were just inconvenient. My feelings for you have been constant, and it's taken me a while," Brittany's mouth quirks a little like she wants to say _a while is an understatement_ but Santana just shakes it off and continues, "But now I know, and I can't do anything but feel what I feel for you and think about you because..."

_This is it_, she thinks, breathing in and twisting her fingers in front of her as the words roll of the tip of her tongue, "Because I'm in love with you, Brittany," her eyes pour out sincerity and it doesn't feel like she's falling anymore. "And words can't explain how much because they will never do it justice," she shrugs, "All I know is that I am _so _in love with you and I always have been."

She's not exactly used to all this declaration of love crap, and up until now, whenever some corny ass movie had it, she would either fast forward the scene or laugh at how pathetic she found it. But now she gets it. Now she feels everything, and _fuck, _it's terrifying. Standing in front of Brittany with her heart, her emotions, everything she has just laid out on the line, ready to be gathered up with a warm heart or trampled on and transformed into a million little pieces... It's just horrible. But in the best way possible.

The corners of Brittany's mouth twitches, but she doesn't grin or smile. Instead she ducks her head, chin tucking to her chest and a small laugh comes out, making the situation feel a hell of a lot lighter than a second ago. "Oh my God," she says through a chuckle.

Santana's brows furrow, pinching together in the middle as she stares at her best friend, not entirely sure what's going on. Her heart's pounding erratically as the fleeting thought of rejection flashes through her mind, but when Brittany smiles... _The _smile, _her _smile, her whole body deflates and slight hope crawls into her chest.

"What are you laughing at?" Santana asks, swallowing thickly and lifting her finger to tilt up Brittany's chin. Their eyes meet and the blue shines brighter than she's ever seen, and for the first time, she actually thinks there's light at the end of the tunnel. Even though she's struggling to decipher the words and hidden messages behind those sapphire orbs, and even though she's kind of still worrying what the response to her question is going to be – she can't help but smile and wait with hope.

"It's just..." Brittany breathes, before reaching up and taking away Santana's hand. Almost immediately the brunette retracts her limb, rejection stinging through her body as she moves to take a step back, but then slender fingers intertwine with her own and she gasps as electricity surges up her arm. "It took you long enough."

Santana blinks incredulously, her heart feeling like it's on fire as the beat ten folds. "What?" she asks, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head slightly.

A slender finger hooks through one of her belt loops and tugs her forward until her body collides with Brittany's, and all the doubt and tension just disappears as she stares deeply into blue eyes, their breaths mixing in the inch between their mouths. Probably not what she should be thinking, but _thank God _she wore boots today.

"The speech was a little predictable," Brittany teases, smiling and cocking an eyebrow playfully, "And it's taken you a decade and a half," the blonde shrugs, "but at least you got here in the end."

Confused, but really fucking glad that she's in this close proximity of the woman she loves, she presses closer, a hand coming up to cup Brittany's cheek and swiping her thumb over the creamy skin. The fingers of her free hand that are threaded through Brittany's squeeze a little tighter, and her heart almost burns into a pile of ash when a thumb brushes across the back of her knuckles. "Got where, Britt?"

Brittany smiles blindingly, that fifth grin crossing over her face and Santana knows just how right she was. That's _her _smile and _God, _she's never going to get tired of it. "To the place where you realize we belong together," Brittany informs like it's the most obvious thing in the entire world.

In the back of her mind, she wonders if this is all a dream because it's _that _fucking perfect. She wonders whether the alcohol is burning through her bloodstream, and whether she'll wake up tomorrow morning, on Quinn's couch with a hangover the size of China and her heart aching with need for a person she should have been with all along. Her eyes flutter shut at the possibility, the pain licking her heart like an open flame and she almost makes a run for it right then – it _can't _be true.

"San?" A finger brushes on the underside of her jaw, and her eyes pop open, staring into bright blue with complete glee and adoration. Her heart's damn near about to beat right out her chest.

Santana lets out a long exhale, smiling and shaking her head because she can't quite believe it. "You love me back?" It's a question she needs to ask, because she _needs _to hear the answer. Even though she's pretty sure she knows it already, the vocalisation of it will just be like a signature on a contract. Without it, she'll be insecure. _Fuck, _she can be so pathetic sometimes.

Brittany smiles, nose brushing against Santana's cheek as she breathes out. "Yes, I love you back," her voice is airy like she's relieved for saying a secret she's been keeping for so long and it just sets fireworks off inside of Santana's body.

Because _yeah, _Brittany loves her back.

And she's knows there's nothing better than that as she leans up, closing the distance between their lips and kisses her way into love.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the wait guys, but I hope you enjoyed! Thoughts would be appreciated!<strong>

**By the way, I got of the five smiles from Win A Date With Tad Hamilton! I watched it and thought of Brittana!**


	20. chapter twenty

**Quick update! Yay!**

**Check out this amazing gif that was made for my last chapter! smythlopez [dot] tumblr [dot] com / post / 18379220728 - IT'S AWESOME AND AAAAAH! can't believe there's a gif!**

**Moving on... HOLY SHIT! nearly 800 reviews is FUCKING AWESOME! sorry for my language I just can't even aksjhalsdkjfhadsf. _excitement!_**

**Anyway, I'm so glad you guys liked the last chapter - and I understand some hesitations about me continuing and smut, but I promise I will build some smut into it because _please_, like they can keep their hands off each other. **

**So yeah, hope you enjoy and thank you for all your reviews! it's amazing!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Twenty]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>8.2k

* * *

><p>Santana closes her eyes as soon as their lips touch. She remembers the first time she kissed Brittany, and all the carefulness and tenderness is still there, lingering beneath each brush of their mouths and squeeze of their hands. The tip of her nose nudges at Brittany's cheek, and her head tilts as she deepens the kiss, their lips parting and breaths trading between mouths.<p>

She feels their fingers untangle as pale arms snake around her neck, securing their bodies together as their lips familiarize themselves with each other once again, the reunion being an incredible experience. Her own hands go straight to Brittany's hips, fingers creeping underneath an ever dampening tank top to find incredibly soft skin that causes a moan to escape as soon as it comes into contact.

Brittany smiles into the kiss and exhales softly. The sheer taste of the blonde's breath on Santana's tongue makes her eyes roll into the back of her head, and as soon as a tongue flicks against her bottom lip, she's pretty sure her knees are about to buckle out. A second before she's about to trace the contours of Brittany's mouth with her tongue, a loud clap of thunder breaks them apart and they giggle, foreheads resting against one another as they realize they've been making out in the rain.

"Never done _that_ before," Brittany says huskily.

Santana licks her lips, not resisting the urge to press a sweet, lingering kiss up just because she can. "Pretty sure we have," she grins knowingly.

Brittany shakes her head, the wet from the rain sliding their foreheads against one another. It's only now Santana realizes that somehow, she's not sure how but yeah, they've stepped out into the centre of the stoop platform, rain hammering down on both of them as their lips glided over each other, pale hands getting lost in dark, damp locks and caramel fingers spanning underneath the hem of a now very wet tank top.

"Not that, San, we've _definitely _done _that_." Brittany whispers seductively, fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of Santana's neck. "I meant kissing in the rain. I've never done it."

"Cliche I know," Santana mumbles, shrugging with slight embarrassment because _yeah, _kissing in the rain after making a declaration of love? _Totally cliche._

Brittany shakes her head slightly, their noses brushing at the small movement, "I found it rather romantic, actually."

Santana lets out a small airy chuckle, but it's lost as Brittany's lips capture her own, sucking at her bottom lip with practised ease whilst her tongue makes a quick yet somehow slow swipe. By the time the blonde pulls away, Santana has to apply a little more pressure to her fingertips to keep herself routed because that kiss was just... _Wow. _She feels like she just smoked about four fat ass joints - her head is spinning _that_ much.

"Whoa," she gulps, smiling as the kiss flutters throughout her being. Her forehead presses closer to Brittany's as she whispers, "I really fucking love you."

Brittany scrunches up her nose, eyes sparkling and pressing closer until Santana can reach around to press her palm to the small of the blonde's back, their figures moulding together perfectly.

"I love you too," Brittany beams back, "But as much as that may be, I'd prefer not to remember this night as the one where you told me you loved me with your dramatic speech," Santana sticks her tongue out and grins, "And both of us got pneumonia."

Yeah, right, she totally forgot. It's raining. Like _hard. _Santana steps back, almost as a instant reaction and winces when the heat of Brittany's body against her own is replaced by the feeling of damn clothing sticking to her skin. She scrunches her face in disgust, her hands still planted on Brittany's hips as eyes flicker down to outfits - the outline of Santana's now printed on the front of Brittany's.

"Shit," Santana takes one hand away to rub at the back of her neck, "You never see this part in movies," she chuckles, listening to the heavenly giggle that escapes Brittany's lips as she's tugged inside by threaded fingers.

They skip the living room and head straight for the bedroom, where Brittany drops Santana's hand by the door, heads for the dresser and opens a drawer. Usually, Santana would step up behind the blonde, hands on hips and press her lips on the long expanse of Brittany's neck, but the uncertainty of where they stand is still running through her mind. So instead, she perches on the end of the bed and tucks her clasped hands between her knees, the sudden cold bringing goosebumps to her skin.

She bites down on her bottom lip when Brittany closes the drawer and walks towards her, the nerves creeping up her spine slowly. "Britt?" she calls out lowly, taking the shirt offered by her best friend. "What does this mean now?"

Brittany looks up, eyes narrowing and a small smile tugging at her lips, "It means I don't want you to get ill. I just got you and I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon," Brittany winks, gripping the hem of her tank top and swiftly removes it, leaving her clad in just a dark purple bra and still wet sweat pants.

The words flutter through Santana's heart, love and adoration fluffing up her brain and making a sappy grin to crack across her face. She can physically feel her insides flipping when Brittany grins wider, and _God, _that smile will get Santana every time. Except the fluttery feeling is replaced as her eyes lock onto toned legs, the dimples in Brittany's back and the way Brittany's shoulder muscles ripple when pale arms stretch way above blonde hair.

_Oh God, _Santana squeezes her eyes shut, thighs clamping together as she feels her jeans get tighter and tighter. "I meant in regards to us," she blurts out fast, needing to change the conversation before she ravishes Brittany on this bed. "And our relationship."

"It means," Brittany turns, walking towards Santana and tilting her head up, "That we love each other."

Santana cocks a brow, still uncertain even though a smile graces her face at those words. "So if I ask you to go on a date with me..."

Brittany grins, "I might say yes."

Santana reaches out, fingers curling around damp sweat pant covered thighs and tugs until Brittany straddles her, legs either side of hips and pale arms around a caramel neck, damp hair tickling the skin. "Might?" she leans up, lips ghosting over the skin of Brittany's neck, ignoring the fact that Brittany's half naked on top of her. "Just might?"

A small whimper comes from above, "Depends how you ask me," Brittany mutters, tilting her head to allow more access even though Santana doesn't quite press her lips forward yet.

"How about," Santana pulls back, heart beating a mile a minute as she glances up into dark blue eyes and managing to _not _focus on the mouth watering abs pressing against her damp top. _Oh God, _why did she think doing this would be a good idea. "If I get a bit of paper, make three boxes and write on the top _will you go out with me?_ I'll put _yes _above the first box, _maybe _above the second box and _no _above the third box. Then you get to choose by ticking it off." Santana grins, knowing how dorky she sounds.

"You're such a dork," Brittany chuckles, smiling widely as she leans down to brush her lips across Santana's.

"I know."

They stare at each other for long moments, eyes drinking in the sight of their close proximity and heart's feeling the love radiating off each other. Santana's pretty sure no-one has ever made her feel this way, _ever. _It feels like she's flying, floating but falling at the same time. Except there's a net there, as well as wings and _by God, _the things her insides are doing are inhuman. She can't even express how much she loves Brittany because word in the English dictionary - or any for dictionary for that matter - would ever do her love justice.

She's _so _in love it almost hurts.

"I love you," Santana says, just because she can.

Brittany's face softens, lips tucking into her mouth as her head tilts, eyes staring into Santana's like she's trying to figure something out. Slowly, she removes her arms from Santana's neck, bringing them down until she can take tanned hands off her waist, and lace their fingers together. The action is so simple, and so easy, but it speaks volumes. Brittany brings their now threaded fingers up and presses a sweet, soft kiss to the caramel skin before whispering, "I love you, too."

They slowly tilt to bring their lips back together, mouths moving gently and reassuringly. Santana circles their intertwined fingers over Brittany's shoulders, then back around in an arc in the air, stretching out to the side before dropping it beside the blonde's thighs. Santana smiles into the kiss, the corners of her lips tugging up as Brittany sucks in her bottom lip, massaging gently before nipping quickly with her teeth and pulling back.

"Are you staying here?" Brittany asks her, eyes sparkling as she breaks from the kiss.

Santana shrugs. "Tonight I will, if that's okay?"

"Tonight?" Brittany jerks her head back, raising their hands into the air beside their heads and releasing them only so she can run her fingers through the centre of caramel ones. It tickles, but it's a comforting, soft tickle and _fuck_, who knew holding hands could make Santana feel so damn amazing? She guesses that's what being in love does.

"Well, yeah," Santana nods. "Sophie has the apartment."

Fair eyebrows furrow. "She kicked you out even though _she _cheated on you?"

"No," Santana brings Brittany's hands to her lips, brushing them across pale knuckles quickly before replying, "I just kind of gave her the apartment until she moves."

"Why?" Brittany enquires, "and she's moving?"

"Because I don't want to be near anything to do with her until she's gone. And yeah, to California," she says, releasing their hands to run them up Brittany's thighs whilst pale fingers run through the hair by her temple. "With Puck." Blue eyes narrow and Santana tilts her head, taking in the way Brittany's trying to gage a reaction from her or something, so she asks, "What?"

"You don't seem that bothered by it?" Brittany bites her bottom lip, slight disapproval evident in her voice.

Santana sighs, leaning in and circling her arms around Brittany's waist so she can nuzzle her nose into the crook of a pale neck. She feels Brittany's hand slide around her neck, biceps pushing into her ears whilst they tighten their embrace.

"I'm not bothered by it," she smiles, pressing a kiss to Brittany's shoulder because the answer is just so easy. "Why would I be bothered when I have you?"

A light laugh comes from above and she's pretty sure she hears the heartbeat beneath her ear quicken as the words escape her mouth. "Sounds like you kind of love me."

Santana leans back, looking up with an incredulous expression. "You have no idea, do you?"

Even though she's done the whole declaration thing, it's like Brittany doesn't quite believe it. And sure, Santana's still adjusting to this because it's so strange, going from best friends - even though they didn't exactly have the normal 'best friendship' - to openly acknowledging the love and being to act on it all the time. But it's different. Behind blue eyes, it seems that Brittany is still hesitant, and it kind of hurts to know that seeing as she put herself out there.

"I love you, Britt." Santana stammers out, swallowing against a thickened throat. You'd think after the whole major thing like half an hour ago, she'd be okay with repeating those three little words. But it still doesn't feel like she's doing enough or proving it enough. "I love you more than I've ever loved anything else, and I will do everything in my power," she locks brown with blue, fingers gripping at Brittany's waist, "To prove that to you every single day."

Brittany smiles down at her, the whole of her body shuddering under Santana's words and the brunette does nothing but smile back, closing her eyes at the sensation of Brittany's love and warmth spreading across her body. Next thing she knows, lips are pressing against her own lightly, and a moan erupts from the back of her throat, bubbling up until it transfers into Brittany's mouth.

"_Mmm,_" Santana hums appreciatively into the kiss, pulling back quickly before diving back in and pressing her lips to Brittany's again quickly, "I love-" she pecks again. "-kissing you and-" another kiss. "-I could totally-" kiss "-do this for hours."

"_Mhmm_, me too." Brittany mumbles against Santana's lips. "But sssh with the talking and more kissing," the words are muffled as the brunette leans forward, taking a pink lip between her own and sucking gently.

Santana leans back a little pressing one soft but meaningful kiss to her lips before trailing her way down Brittany's jawline, then up and down the length of her neck, careful to linger at the throbbing pulse beneath her touch. Her tongue pokes out, brushing across the base of Brittany's neck and collarbone, before she smiles into the skin after earning a quiver. The mere knowledge that she's having this effect on Brittany shoots straight to her crotch and she rolls her hips, hands slipping down to grab at the blonde's ass gently.

"San," Brittany mumbles against Santana's lips, hands pushing against shoulders with barely any strength - kind of like Brittany doesn't want to be doing it. "Wait, San..."

Grudgingly, Santana breaks apart, licking her lips and tasting Brittany on them. Her eyes wander around the room mindlessly as her head swarms because _damn, _she could totally kiss Brittany all day. When she manages to focus, she inhales deeply and looks into deep blue eyes, slowly regaining her normal state of mind. "Yeah?"

"I think that-"

Brittany pauses when Santana starts kneading her fingers, gently squeezing the flesh of the blonde's ass and rolls her hips a little harder, the feeling of her member stiffening under the touch. A groan escapes perfect pink lips and she grins when she sees the will to speak slip slowly out of the blonde when she leans forward and runs her nose up the expanse of Brittany's neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent deeply.

"San..."

Santana doesn't deter her movements, slipping her hands up to span to the hot skin of Brittany's bare back, nails lightly grazing whilst she lets her lips ghost over creamy skin. "Yeah, Britt?" She whispers, poking her tongue up to taste the sweet flavour that's distinctly Brittany.

There's nothing but the sound of their intense ragged breathing and their quiet moans when Santana pushes up with her hips, member pressing directly into the apex of Brittany's thighs and causing a shudder to emanate through both their bodies. Fingers curl into her hair, tightening as she sucks lightly on the skin below Brittany's earlobe, the pulse throbbing frantically beneath her lips whilst continuous quiet moans escape parted pink lips.

"_S'ntana..._"

Santana makes a sound of acknowledgement, like she's actually going to stop and listen, but then she feels hips grind into her own, meeting her slow rocking movement and brown eyes pop open, arousal shooting through her body and sparking at the end of her fingertips. She grazes her hands up Brittany's back, feeling the muscles twitch underneath her touch and _holy shit, _Brittany is so fucking beautiful and just _urgh, _that Santana wants to jump up and do a little celebration dance.

It's so fucking surreal and so fucking amazing she can barely believe this is reality. It feels like a damn Disney movie.

"Wait wait wait," Brittany manages to stammer out, hands sliding to Santana's shoulders and pushing until she clambers off Santana's lap and backs away, butt hitting the dresser on the opposite side of the room.

Santana winces at the cool air that collides with her damp clothing and shivers. Groaning, her eyes dart up quizzically because _why the hell did Brittany get up? _She totally thought they were about to get it on, or at least make out for a little... And not to be a hormonal teenager or anything but _seriously? _Talk about blue balling.

"We need to _not _to do that." Brittany shakes her head, eyes squeezing shut as her knuckles turn a deathly white, gripping the edge of the dresser.

Santana's eyes widen as she looks down, noticing the bulge in her jeans and laces her fingers together to cover it. Even at this age it's still pretty embarrassing to get a boner whilst having a conversation - even if it was that person that gave her the hard-on.

"What?" She gulps, sucking in her lips and shuffling further onto the bed, twisting her feet so the tip of her shoes meet in the centre. There's not much she can do to hide it because it's almost painful how hard she is right now.

Brittany smiles shyly, eyes flickering from where caramel hands are to slightly embarrassed brown eyes. "I think that we should take things..." she waves her hands in the general direction of Santana and bites on her bottom lip, eyes pouring with the need for the brunette to understand. "...slowly... with us."

"Slowly?" Santana repeats, brows scrunching together. Even though it's not what she wanted to hear, considering the bulge in her pants, there's still a rational part in the back of her mind agreeing with the proposition.

"Yeah, slowly."

Santana clears her throat, brushing her knuckle underneath her nose and straightens up. "Not that I don't agree but-" she shuffles, her semi hard member pressing against the zip on her jeans as her eyes zoom in and lock onto Brittany's cleavage.

"Wait," she squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her hand harder over her bulge to see if pain will make it go down. "Can you like, put your top on?" Santana says, waving her hand about and turning her head because _damn, _Brittany _with _a top on whilst she has a hard on is distracting enough - but without it is just... _uh. _Literally painful. "It's kind of hard-," her eyes pop open, "I mean," Brittany chuckles and Santana smiles, casting her gaze down and blushes, settling on, "You know what I mean," instead of trying to find another word.

Brittany laughs and Santana hears movement across the room, the bed dipping about ten seconds later and a soft palm grazing over her forearm, still wedged between her squeezed together knees. She doesn't give up the hold though, still knowing she's hard and about two seconds away from flipping Brittany and ravishing her because it's pretty hard not too in any given situation - but the intimacy of a shared bedroom and a semi hard on packing in her pants is too much.

"Santana," Brittany whispers, lips ghosting over the shell of her ear, "Look at me."

Santana slowly cracks her eyes open, muscles aching from the tight and slides them to the right, meeting bright blue eyes. Brittany leans in quickly, stealing a quick kiss and then continues to stare - her eyes bright and piercing and brighter than Santana's ever seen them.

"Look, San," pale hands wrap around her wrist, tugging with unknown strength until Brittany can lace their fingers together, twisting her body to face Santana's. "I love you, but I just think we should take things slowly."

"No no no," Santana pushes out, sighing when a thumb brushes over the back of her knuckles, "I didn't _not _think it was a good idea." Her face scrunches up at the same time Brittany's does because even she isn't sure that makes sense. "I mean, I think it _is _a good idea," she reiterates, nodding at the blonde whilst, subconsciously, a smile tugs at her lips.

"You do?" Brittany's brows raise in surprise.

Santana chuckles, bringing one of their clasped hands to brush a lock of still damp blonde hair behind a pale ear. "I'm not a hormonal teenage boy, Britt."

Brittany's eyes widen, head shaking frantically. "No, I wasn't inferring-"

"I know, Britt," she interjects, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Brittany's cheek, "I'm just saying I can control myself."

"Yeah?" The blonde cocks her head to the side, lip tugging between pearly whites. "You can?"

Santana nods, eyes softening and teeth revealing through a wide grin. "Yeah, baby, I can."

Even though the only light in the room is a small lamp on the dresser Brittany was leaning on, Santana still sees the small blush creep across creamy cheeks and tinge the tip of pale ears as blue eyes drift downwards to their threaded fingers. She lifts one of their hands, brushing the back of her knuckles across Brittany's cheek and down along her jawline, in attempt to capture the blonde's attention.

"Why are you blushing?" Santana whispers, wetting her lips because all she wants to do is look into those bright blue eyes and marvel at the way it makes her insides go all jiggly.

Brittany glances up, locking eyes for about two seconds before lunging forward, arms wrapping around her neck and pulling down until their lips meet in a hungry kiss - mostly tongue and barely lips. She doesn't even have time to comprehend what this kiss is for as her palms slide around, staying on the small of Brittany's back until strong legs shuffle over the top of Santana's, so the blonde's practically sitting in her lap as their lips glide against one another. It feels like her chest is about to explode every time they kiss, and _fucking hell_, kissing Brittany is her number one favourite thing to do of all time. Hands fucking down.

About thirty seven seconds later, when the need for oxygen becomes too much, Brittany pulls away, breathless and smiling, "You called me baby."

Santana shuts her eyes, shaking her head from side to side to erase the dizzy feelings - because _God, _if she gets that every time she and Brittany kiss, that's going to get embarrassing - and finally glances up, acknowledging her words. "I did," she agrees, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

Which is kind of weird because when she was with Sophie, she _hated _the term of endearment 'baby'. With Sophie, it made it sound childish and condescending, but with Brittany it feels natural and cute in a really _stick-your-fingers-down-your-throat-and-wretch_ kind of way because she can just imagine how nauseating it must be to see two people _this _in love - even though it's only been like forty minutes since they actually said the words to each other.

She feels Brittany let go of her hands, and move them cradle her cheeks, lifting her gaze until their eyes meet and slowly. They look at each other for about half a second before their lips meet for a sensual kiss, all lips and emotions pouring in as they brush against one another with nothing but love.

"You're kind of cute, you know?" Brittany whispers when they break apart, lips slightly swollen.

Santana shrugs casually, "I know," she teases, poking her tongue out quickly. "It's why I'm so charming."

Brittany shakes her head, grinning and takes a stand, brushing her fingers on the underside of Santana's jawline before whisking back off towards the dresser and returning to gathering clothes, because _yeah, _Santana's actually _probably_ going to get pneumonia if she sits in wet clothes anymore. Two seconds later, a pair of grey and white flannel pajama pants and a black wife beater are chucked at her and she glances up, grinning when Brittany winks and mutters "be right back" before disappearing out the bedroom door.

She knows it's just a few moments to get changed - because they barely made it through Brittany changing her top without ravishing each other, and changing together will just be whole other situation to deal with - but it doesn't feel like that because that would probably give her the guest vibe. Like she's visiting Brittany. But that's not how she feels. Because honestly, this place has always been more of a home to her than her _actual _home, and sure, it took a while to realize that home is where the heart is - but she got there and now she kind of feels at home. Like she's on her own bed, waiting domestically for her girlfriend to walk through the door.

_Wait, _is Brittany even her girlfriend?

"Do you want some water?" Brittany pokes her head round the door, fingers curling around the door jam and drumming underneath her chin.

Santana shakes herself out her thoughts, nodding, "Yes please."

Then the blonde disappears, leaving Santana to quickly shrug out her wet clothes and into the pajamas, disregarding her wet clothing in the hamper in the far right hand corner of the room. She glances around, staring at the bed and suddenly nerves crawl into her stomach again, causing the butterflies to flutter rapidly and her knee to twitch in anticipation.

There's a spare room down the hallway, and her head turns in towards the doorway before back to the bed. Realistically, if they are actually dating... or if Brittany is actually her girlfriend, it'd make sense to sleep together in the non-sexual way... Because that's just snuggling.

But if Brittany wants to take it slowly, and already they can barely keep their hands off each other - despite outstanding factors that should effect them like unanswered questions and wet clothing - what they hell will happen if they're lying in each other's personal bubbles, limbs entangled, hands gliding and, most likely, lips pressed together for the majority of the night as they spend the early hours of the morning making out lazily like two teenagers?

She highly doubts that she, or Brittany for that matter, will be able to take things slowly if they're in _that _close proximity.

Stupid taking things slowly rule.

"Hey, San?"

She glances around, watching Brittany glide into the room in a completely different outfit and two glasses of water in hand. "Yeah?"

"I was thinking," Brittany places down the glasses on top of the dresser and turns, "Why don't you stay here?"

Santana purses her lips, slowly stalking towards Brittany with her hands out, until slender fingers intertwine with her own. "I thought I was?"

"No," Brittany shakes her head, ducking her chin to her chest. "I mean, like, until Sophie leaves?"

Dark brows shoot up to an equally dark hairline. "Serious?" She asks, lips pinching up at the side in disbelief.

Brittany bites on her bottom lip nervously, foot tracing in a small circle on the floorboards as she twists and turns their hands. "Well, yeah... I mean...," she glances up through lashes, fluttering them once, twice, three times just to make Santana's heart feel like it's about to jump straight out her chest, "It gives us more time together," she steps closer, body pressing flush against Santana's, "And that means more kissing."

A low, throaty moan erupts from Santana's throat as she falls forward, forehead resting against Brittany's as her hands find their place on the small slither of skin visible through a skimpy tank top. _Sure, _Brittany wants to go slow but _seriously? _Dressed like this! She hasn't even stayed over and it's already tearing her apart _not _to touch the blonde.

"Baby..." Santana half-moans, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing away the electricity surging down her arms to lower her hands."You're killing me here."

Brittany lets out a small chuckle, bringing her hands up to curl around a tanned neck and nudging their noses together, lips lingering dangerously close. "I can change if you want?" She asks coyly, fluttering her lashes a little more. "Into like, heavy sweats and a massive, baggy sweatshirt?"

Heat flushes through Santana and suddenly all she can imagine is Brittany wearing some of her clothes and _seriously _that's like a major turn on. She swallows hard, eyes flickering up the length of the blonde's body and noticing just how short her shorts are. Whilst Santana's wearing knee length ones, more like basketball shorts, Brittany's wearing tiny _day-at-the-beach_ ones that show how bare her long legs are.

Now she's not entirely sure which is more arousing. Brittany in her clothes or Brittany in barely any clothes.

"Oh God," Santana stumbles out, pressing forward and backing Brittany up until their pushed up against the dresser, the blonde's butt half on the top and half off. She sneaks her tanned hands down, curling around the piece of skin where Brittany's ass meets her thighs and lifts, hoisting the other woman onto the dresser as pale, strong legs wrap around her mid-section. She swallows hard, before pushing their lips together and circling her arms around Brittany's waist hugging tighter as their kiss deepens, tongues probing past lips and sensually caressing over each other in a way that makes Santana want to squeal at because it's so damn perfect.

Even though they've both said slowly is the way to go - since they both jumped into relationships fast and look how that ended up - the sexual tension and need is so thick in the air that even a chainsaw couldn't cut the damn thing. It's so fucking obvious they want each other in the same way, emotionally and physically because _sure, _it's only been like two days since they had sex... But it's like a craving because neither have had it before and now they've discovered it, all they want to do is _re-discover _it over and over.

Like when you eat something you soon find out is your new favourite food - it's so damn good, that you don't want to go a day without trying another bite. And now imagine it being dangled in front of your face with barely any wrapping on and looking mouth-wateringly good, just _there, _waiting and just being so damn irresistible...

_That's _how Santana feels, and she's pretty sure that's how Brittany feels too.

Hence why they're making out heavily, pressed up against each other and slowly rocking together whilst hands roam _everywhere. _Fingers tangle in hair, clench against ass' as lips slip and slide messily, tongues and teeth being added into every now and then. This kiss doesn't have the delicacy of the last few, or the one that started off the path that ended up in them making mind-blowing love.

Santana can feel her stiff member rubbing on the inside of Brittany's short shorts and _holy shit _- there's literally like three pieces of fabric separating them from what they're yearning for... With two fingers hooked into both pair of shorts and panties/boxers, she could bury herself hilt deep into Brittany and they could release this tension.

_Fuck, _this is so _not _slow.

It's frantic, and rushed. But so fucking good.

But Santana knows they _need _it to be slow. Slow as a fucking snail.

She fucking hates snails right now.

So with every ounce of strength she has inside her, even though she's pretty sure she was convinced she couldn't do it, she parts their lips, a loud pop smacking from the sound of them separating and backs away, until her calves hit the foot of the bed and her body topples over, butt falling onto the mattress. There's practically a fucking tent in her shorts and this time she doesn't even try and hide it because she's pretty sure judging by the way Brittany snapped her legs shut, there's a wet patch on the centre of her crotch showing her arousal...

_Shit. _She needs top stop thinking about what's in between Brittany's legs because she can't even thinking straight right now.

"Slow," she mutters, mostly to herself. "We need to go slow."

A shuffle comes from the other side of the room, and she glances up, seeing how Brittany rearranges her top, tugging it back down and wipes her thumb along her bottom lip - taking away the moisture there. Her face is tinged pink and her lips are swollen and _ohmygod, _somehow she looks even more breath taking than before. She can seriously work the sex hair look.

"Yeah," Brittany clears her throat, gripping the edge of the dresser and banging her heels on the drawers underneath lightly like she's trying to distract herself from the sexual need and urges rising like a cloud of smoke in the air. "Slow."

They both breath out slowly, pursing their lips into a small 'o' shape whilst they try to push down the arousal and need and somehow keep themselves routed to their spot - which has three or four metres of bedroom separating them. Even with that space, it's ridiculously difficult not to lunge across the room and scoop Brittany up in her arms...

_Okay, _definitely not a good idea to sleep in the same bed.

"Spare bedroom," Santana blurts out before she can even properly word what she wants to say. Her eyes flicker around the room whilst she murmurs _what the hell _inside her head because, _yeah, _she just said spare bedroom like it was the source of all their problems when really, it's just putting a few thin walls between the problem - which also have doors that can just swing open. So it's not like a barrier, more like a movable block.

"Yeah," Brittany nods, breathing heavily and sucking in her lips. "Spare bedroom. Good idea."

They both nod in sync, smiles tugging at the side of their mouths until they can't contain it and longer and break into large grins. Small chuckles escape both of them and they slowly gravitate towards each other, meeting in the centre of them room, hands meeting and fingers lacing instantly.

"I would say I'd come and help you set up the spare room, but something tells me we wouldn't get past putting to duvet on." Brittany says suggestively, eyes bright as they trail a path up Santana's body.

A shiver emanates from her spine and the last thing to move is her head, which whips quickly from side to side, the ideas and memories flashing through her mind and spiralling down to her crotch again.

"Britt," she whines, "_So _not fair."

Brittany chuckles lightly, and Santana leans forward, pressing her lips to the blonde's for a chaste kiss before her feet move backwards towards the door, knowing a second longer in here and they _definitely _won't keep with the whole slow thing. They pause at the door, eyes still locked in a loving gaze that neither want to break but both know they should break because they know what it'll lead too.

Kissing.

Then more kissing.

Then making out.

Then hands roaming.

Yeah, you get the picture.

"Okay, I'm going," she says, even though her body makes no movement to leave. "I'm going."

Brittany smiles, eyes beaming. "Okay."

She almost laughs at her inability to move, but then Brittany giggle and she finds her head tilting to the side, distracted by the way the blonde smiles adoringly. No-one has ever made her feel like this, or look at her like _that _andshe could totally explode into a fireball because of it. Hoping to move, because _my God, _there's only about two minutes until she gives up completely and rips both their clothes off in a hasty manner before quenching their sexual thirst.

"I'm going," Santana exhales, sounding unconvincing even to herself as she tries _not _to imagine Brittany in compromising positions. "Seriously."

"Okay," Brittany giggles, contradicting her words by pressing closer until their hips collide and breasts push up against each other.

Santana leans in again, pressing one final quick kiss to Brittany's lips before attempting to step away, body twisting to face out towards the hallway. When hands grip her own tighter, she whips back around, eyebrow arched and eyes narrowed, darting between threaded fingers and devilish blue eyes. "You're gonna have to let go, Britt."

Brittany grins. "I know."

Suddenly feeling mischievous, and sensing a challenge, she quickly tugs her hands out from Brittany's, curls them down the curve of the blonde's butt, settling on the top of her thighs and hikes up, until pale legs wrap around her hips, ankles crossing at the small of her back. Brittany lets out a heavenly squeal and Santana buries her nose into a creamy shoulder, laughing as she moves towards the bed whilst pale arms snake around her neck.

She reaches the side of the bed, opting for further away than the foot of it with hope that another metre between them will at least give her the slightest of chances to get out the bedroom, and gently places Brittany against the bed. Before the blonde can reach up to bring their lips together again, Santana's already unwrapped the limbs tangled around her and releases her own arms - before practically sprinting towards the door. Turning around, she sees Brittany pout and scrunch her brows together with disapproval, arms crossing with legs do the same.

"If I kiss you again with you on the bed," Santana half-pants, fueled by the adrenaline of moving so fast and forcing herself to move away from Brittany. "I won't stop." She smiles, "So I'll say goodnight from over here."

Despite the sheer reluctance for _this _kind of goodnight, Santana smiles and whispers, "I love you," whilst the tips of her fingers dig into the door frame, resisting to give into the urge of throwing herself onto the bed and joining Brittany on the empty left hand side of the bed - and _oh God, _that just makes them more perfect for each other because that's _her _side and Brittany's is the right - because that runs the risk of screwing things up.

"Night, Brittany."

Brittany mirrors Santana's smile, "Night, Santana."

Santana grins widely and idiotically at the way that smile worms it's way into her heart and turns, flicking off the light and heading down the hallway. She all about runs into the wall when she hears Brittany sing-songs, "I love you,"after her.

Grappling the door frame of the spare bedroom, she yells, "I love you too,"back before slamming the door and leaning against it - knowing that slow and steady wins the race. Even though the hare totally would've won if it'd raced against a stupid fucking turtle.

But that's _so not _the point.

* * *

><p>Santana's been lying awake, staring at the ceiling, in the dark, for precisely forty seven minutes. The swirling on the ceiling paint started to make her go dizzy around minute seven, and the ticking of the clock in the hallway has become a calming, background ambiance despite it being really damn annoying for the first fourteen minutes.<p>

She blinks, drumming her fingertips along the top of her comforter she's resting her hands on, and watches the forty seventh minute slowly merge into the forth eighth. About twenty minutes ago, she's pretty sure she heard Brittany quietly creep into the kitchen or down the hallway or something, probably to get some water - but she didn't think anything of it. If she even begins to walk to the door, she'll convince herself that her name's being called or that Brittany wants her or something, and there's no way she'll get back in bed.

The only downside to lying awake, is now she's thinking of so many things. Like how did Brittany break it off with Mike? Was Mike upset? Does Mike hate her now? Will their be awkward meetings at the dance studio seeing as Brittany and Mike work together? Will Brittany stay at her job? Will she get a key to the apartment now?

Then of course, there's the biggest question that's pretty much been bugging her mind since she got into bed. Why the hell did Brittany reject her back in college? Santana did say that she wanted to see what could come of them, and Brittany _did _say 'took long enough' - which obviously implies she's wanted more for a long time... But what the hell? What was wrong with college? They wouldn't have had to go through all this shit if they'd just given it a go back then.

She doesn't know a lot of things, and there's so much to discuss with Brittany, but she knows she's not mad with Brittany. In some ways, it's kind of good that they didn't give it a go in college - seeing as now they can cherish and value what they have because they know it's real. The chances of them fucking it up would've been higher when they were younger...

That still doesn't deter her from wanting to know what Brittany's thinking was behind the rejection though. She'll just have to talk to Brittany tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Just as her eyes close, and she's pretty sure she's was about a minute away from falling asleep, the bedroom door creaks open and butterflies start fluttering inside her stomach. It was only a matter of time before one of them gave up resisting, and she's kind of glad it was Brittany - considering Brittany's room just reminds her of all the things they're <em>not <em>going to do.

Twenty seconds later, and there's no further movement, she cracks open and eye, wincing at the intruding moonlight and shuffles. Just as she expected, Brittany's standing by the door, bare foot twirling nervously in a circle on the floor as she bites her bottom lip. Santana's pretty sure Brittany thinks she's asleep, so feigning fatigue, she yawns and pushes her left palm to the mattress beside her, moving herself into a pushing position whilst the other hand rubs at her eyes.

"Britt?" She croaks, her voice playing along with faking tiredness.

Brittany shuffles into the room, closing the door. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Santana grins and her mouth opens to respond when the blonde continues, "Even though you were pretending too be asleep."

Shaking her head, she offers out a hand and a Cheshire grin spreads across Brittany's face, replacing the nervous expression she had a few seconds ago. The bed dips next to her, and she frowns, glancing to the side to see Brittany slipping into bed. That woman can move like a ninja. _Dancer, _she supposes.

"Couldn't stay away from me, huh?" Santana teases, shuffling up the bed until her back leans against the headboard.

Brittany smiles in the dark. "Shut up and cuddle me."

An arm slips across her midsection, whilst Brittany presses her head just above Santana's heart and snuggles. It's weirdly natural how this feels, and how Santana snakes her arm around the blonde's shoulder, pulling closer until they're cuddled closer and she shuffles down the bed - making the position easier. Brown eyes flicker down, staring at the top of a blonde head of hair and she sighs out, pressing her lips to the hair quickly and just marvelling in their situation.

It's pretty obvious that both of them are too tired to even attempt to do anything, and even though she's kind of disappointed, she's pretty damn happy just to lie here, listening to Brittany breathing and trailing her fingers up and down Brittany's back in a loop - revelling in their new found, well, newly declared love and relationship. Never did she ever think she'd ever be this damn lucky to have Brittany in her arms, warm around her heart physically and emotionally. There was a time when she thought that Sophie was her 'lobster' as Brittany had said, but it's pretty clear now that Sophie was just another stupid langoustine.

"Night, San," Brittany says through a yawn as the hand across Santana's stomach creeps down to a tanned hand, where creamy fingers lace through caramel.

Santana grins, squeezes Brittany's hand and presses a final kiss to the top of her head - loving the way her stomach flips with every word that comes out of the blonde's mouth. "Night Britt," she inhales and exhales with a, "Love you."

"Love you too."

She was _so_ wrong about Sophie.

Because Brittany's her lobster, and always has been.

* * *

><p><strong>Just thought you guys might want a bit of fluff, but the story will progress and your questions will be answered eventually!<strong>

**I don't really do fluff, so tell me what you thought please? Thanks!**


	21. chapter twenty one

**To explain the whole 'lobster' thing - I did refer to it in an earlier chapter, but I'll just reiterate it for anyone who doesn't remember: It's a known fact that lobsters fall in love and mate for can actually see old lobster couples walking around their tank, and holding claws and stuff. (That's the explanation Phoebe gives from _Friends _anyway.)**

**Anyway, moving on, I love hearing your feedback and it's truly amazing! I'm so glad people love this fic!**

**However I have actually now decided _not _to do a sequel to this, but instead start on a new project which if you check my tumblr - (justsomebrittanagleek) - you can check out what I have in store!**

**So yeah, I know some requests and I'll try to fulfill them in upcoming chapters! **

**But there is a warning for this chapter, it's more of a filler and pretty pointless but kind of necessary. Don't hate on me if you don't like it because I just read through it and I'm not happy with it either!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Twenty One]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>Just under 10k

* * *

><p>Waking up the next morning is probably one of the worst and most amazing experiences she's ever had.<p>

The first thing that pops into her mind when something stirs her from her slumber, is whether or not last night was a dream and that now maybe, she's lying on Quinn's couch, alone and still wallowing in her own self pity.

Except that thought is pretty much erased when she realizes that one - whatever she's sleeping on is way too comfortable to be the Fabray sofa, and two - there's a tingling warmth in the palm of her hand and an arm strewn across her chest that - when she rubs her eyes with her spare hand - she realizes can't be her own.

So her emotions pretty much run from panicked, almost to the point where she could have a cold sweat, to relieved and in love. After yawning and tilting her head from side to side to try and crick her neck, she glances down and her heart flips over when she sees Brittany sleeping in the same position she fell asleep in last night. Pretty unusual considering Santana's always been a wriggly kind of sleeper, Brittany too, now she comes to think of it.

Doesn't matter though, together they sleep perfectly. Reinforces the idea that they're perfect together.

Santana lifts one arm, fingers tracing the outline of Brittany's eyebrow, cheek, nose, around her top lip and then down to her jawline. She just lays there for a few seconds, watching the woman in her arms and taking in all of her beauty. For so long she's been pretending that she doesn't notice it, that she's trying to make up for lost time.

A creak on the floorboards in the hallway breaks her out of her stupor, and snapping her head up, she watches two foot shaped shadows underneath the door gap, linger a second before three knocks echo through the room. Sure, she's pretty curious to who it is, but she doesn't know who comes into Brittany's apartment and who doesn't - Brittany's so damn friendly it could be the mail man dropping in for a cup of tea. And she highly doubts someone would be breaking in broad daylight, and then proceed to linger outside the bedroom before knocking.

She glances down to Brittany in her arms, momentarily distracted by parted pink lips and the adorable expression on her face, and then towards the door - inwardly debating whether to wait until they come into the room, or whether she should just go out there. Taking Brittany into consideration, she decides to go to them, and slowly rolls, pressing Brittany onto her back - ignoring the groan from loss of contact - and presses her lips to a pale forehead before untangling their limbs from the sheets and slipping out the bed.

The knockings get more insistent as she pads towards the door bare footed, and she already knows by the obnoxiously annoying rapping who it is. There's only one person who would knock on a door this many times without barging in because only _then_ would they consider it rude.

Santana swings open the door carefully, making sure it doesn't knock on the dresser behind it and steps out, moving the other person back before closing the door softly and turning to the intruder.

"Berry," she says monotonously, arms crossing over her chest.

The smaller brunette jerks her head back a little, eyes wide and expression confused. "Santana?"

She looks down at herself, clad in pajamas and back up again. "Looks like me, doesn't it?"

"Considering you've just walked out of Brittany's bedroom, I am surprised you're in a bad mood, Santana."

Santana arches a brow, shaking her head from side a little and says, "What do you want, Berry?"

Rachel smoothes her hands down the front of her hideous argyle skirt and straightens her back. "I came to talk to Brittany, actually. I tried to get in contact with her last night, but I couldn't get a hold of her." Her eyes flicker towards the door and then back towards Santana, "But I can see she was... _busy,_" she raises an eyebrow suggestively,"with you."

"Okay," Santana raises a hand, and flicks up one finger. "One, Britt's asleep. And two," she flicks up the second finger, "please don't _ever_ make a reference to our sex lives."

Rachel nods, eyes flashing with fear. "I apologise, Santana. Well anyway, whilst you're awake, may I talk to you instead?"

Her eyes dart from side to side, looking around for Ashton Kutcher or cameras or _anything _that will confirm her suspicions about being on Punk'd. It's not like she doesn't get along with Rachel, it's just... Okay, maybe it is. She can't help that Rachel is ridiculously annoying and short, and that the urge to insult her whenever she's around is too much to withhold. Obviously, considering the annoying connection they have via Quinn, she's had to adjust - but she still doesn't choose to spend time _alone _with the woman. Insulting Berry just isn't that fun without an audience.

Mean, she knows. But Rachel can deal with it.

"Um... Sure." Rachel nods, clapping her hands together in front of her enthusiastically. "Let's go to the kitchen," Santana says, jutting her head down the hallway and moving quickly. She doesn't want to wake Brittany and God only knows how loud Berry can be.

"Brilliant."

They arrive in the kitchen, Santana moving around the counters to the coffee pot where she flicks it on and takes our two cups from the cupboard above. When she turns to Rachel, holding out the mug and silently offering, Rachel nods and causes a strange feeling crawls over Santana's skin because, she's actually being nice to Berry... It's strange, and she's pretty sure if she continues, it'll like throw the world off balance or something.

"So I'm assuming you and Brittany managed to work things out?" Rachel asks from the stool she's perched on.

Santana turns, resting her butt against the lip of the counter and drums her fingertips along the rim after she braces herself. "Yeah," she says with a goofy smile tugging at her lips, "We managed."

"Good."

Silence falls upon them and Santana thanks the lord when the flick of the coffee pot tells her it's done. She spins around, pours two mugs and then moves towards the counter where she slides one over to the other woman, the other grasped in her hand and steaming heavily. Lifting it to her lips, she blows the steam off before taking a heavy gulp.

_Jesus, _her love for coffee is almost unhealthy.

"Santana," Rachel pokes her fingers through the handle, twisting the mug in her hand like she's nervous about what she's about to say. "I just wanted to ask you something about Brittany."

Santana's ears perk in attention and she places down her mug, resting her palms onto the counter top and leaning in inquisitively. "What about her?"

"I just..." the smaller brunette trails off, biting her lip before looking up through thick eye lashes. "I just wanted to make sure that this, whatever it is between you and Brittany," she locks eyes with Santana, "isn't a rebound thing."

Santana blinks incredulously, brows furrowing. "A rebound thing?" she repeats.

"Well I mean," Rachel spares a glance back towards the hallway, probably to ensure Brittany's not standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "You and Sophie just broke up, and I just want to make sure you're not going to use Brittany and leave her in a few weeks because it was just in retaliation of your divorce."

In any other situation, meaning _not _the day after confessing her love for Brittany, she'd probably snap and lurch across the table - recreating a Mean Girls mall scenario so Rachel's face pressed against the counter top - but this time she doesn't. She just inhales deeply, softens her facial features and sucks in her lips, mulling over the recently spoken words.

She understands Rachel's concerns, and _damn, _she's thought about it how it may seem that way when really, there's no way in hell that's even a possibility. Brittany could never be a rebound thing. But it's just, she's been thinking about it because she doesn't know whether Brittany knows that. Whether Brittany knows that this thing between them, that she's in it for the long run - because she is. This isn't one of those stupid relationships, this is a proper one. It's even more official and certain than her marriage to Sophie was.

"Don't get me wrong, Santana," Rachel continues, "Despite our differences I like you, and even though I know you insult me at any given time, I know you at least respect me if not like. But I just care about Brittany. She's been through a lot," Santana hears the _with you_ silently added onto the end, "and I'm only looking out for her because I love her."

And for once, Santana understands Rachel, and she actually smiles. Yes_, smiles_ at Rachel fucking Berry like they're even close to being friends.

"Rachel," she starts, voice serious, "I know that I've been a complete ass. And if I could, I would take everything back because I know what I did was unforgivable." Santana moves around the counter, leaving her coffee behind and stands beside Rachel, "But I love her," the words bring a smile to her face, "More than anything."

Rachel's face softens and she reaches out tentatively, testing the waters for about two seconds before placing her hand over the back of Santana's that's resting on the counter top. "And you won't leave her?"

Honesty has always been a strong point of hers, but for some reason, being this open and honest with Berry is kind of strange. But it feels like something is changing in the air, and now considering they're going to be close not only because of Quinn's relationship with Rachel, but because Rachel and Brittany are best friends, she guesses that she'll have to get used to it.

Berry can't be _that _bad, she thinks.

"I can't be without her," Santana shrugs, wincing at the memory of how much of an emotional wreck she was for those two miserable days without Brittany. "I just don't work without her."

A relieved smile tugs at Rachel's lips and they both stare at each other for about three excruciatingly awkward seconds before Santana clears her throat, moves away and takes the ridiculously goofy grin off her face that the mere image of Brittany created.

"I believe you." Rachel states, with no hesitation or doubt in her tone. "But I swear to God, Santana, if you hurt her..."

Santana blinks once, twice before biting her quivering bottom lip because there's an eruption of giggles threatening to bubble up her throat. She thanks the heavens that Rachel's oblivious to these kind of things, so when she turns and digs her fingertips into the marble counter to try and cause some pain to take the focus away from the laughter threatening to escape, Rachel doesn't even notice.

Because _seriously?_ A doorknob is more threatening than Rachel Berry.

When she manages to force the laughter down far enough, she spins around once more, nodding appreciatively and murmurs, "I know, Rachel. Thank you."

It's that moment that soft footsteps echo through the room and a faint calling of her name rings out seconds later. Brittany appears at the door, rubbing her eyes and wearing less clothing than she was the night before. Santana's eyes nearly pop out her head when they linger up the long line of Brittany's legs, over the arch in her foot, the curve in her calf and then to the small indent of inner side of her strong thighs.

Santana gulps heavily, gripping the lip of the counter this time to force down the arousal spiralling through her stomach. She finally lifts her gaze to meet bright blue and the grin is back, stretching her face and making her look like a fool in love. _Well, _she _is _a fool in love and if she stares at Brittany any longer she's pretty sure she's about to implode, or faint from the beauty staring back at her.

Brittany gives Rachel a quick glance and smile, apparently not bothered by her dressed state and practically bounds over to Santana, snaking her arms around her neck and pulling into a tight embrace. Tanned hands fall to hips, gripping hard whilst Santana inhales deeply, the intoxicating scent almost making her knees buckle beneath her. She pulls back, hand reaching around to the small of Brittany's back and pinches the loose fabric lightly, watching the way blue eyes flicker from brown eyes to her lips.

She knows that neither of them quite know to to approach the subject of kissing, because whilst _yes, _last night was basically all kissing and intimate touches, it's kind of strangely awkward now.

"Hi," she gets out after a long moment, biting her bottom lip but not even bothering to hide the joy she feels.

"Hey," Brittany replies in the same airy manner, like she can't quite believe she's able to do that either.

It's almost ridiculous how she almost fails to breathe out and how her heart starts hammering loudly inside her chest when Brittany leans in, and how for a split second she barely remembers the other presence in the room. That's until a badly timed cough breaks them from their little trance before their lips can touch. A scowl etches across her face as she twists her head, eyes staggeringly sharp and aimed straight at Rachel who's wide eyed and apologetic.

"Baby," Brittany whispers, breath hitting the curve of Santana's jaw whilst her forehead rests against her temple. "It's fine."

A quick kiss is pressed to her cheek a second before Brittany backs away, practically skipping past her to embrace Rachel. Santana picks up her mug, sipping lightly at the hot liquid and cocks her hip against the counter, watching Brittany converse with Rachel in a way that seems inhuman to her - because even the smallest of conversations is unbearable with Berry and judging by the speed of their words, she's pretty glad she can't decipher the words because making out what Rachel says normally is hard enough - without the mixed excitement she can hear in both of their tones.

Brittany squeals loudly when Rachel tells her something, but she doesn't hear. Instead, Santana only sees the way Brittany's face brightens up, the way her teeth sparkle and eyes beam with excitement. The way her cheeks rise, that small crinkle forms above her right brow and and how her faces scrunches up slightly. It's the second smile. And even though she didn't think it was possible, she finds herself falling more and more in love with Brittany every single second.

"Did you hear that, San?" Brittany turns, stepping across to Santana with one large bound and teasing their fingers together after she puts her mug down.

No, she didn't hear what Rachel said, but instead of saying something corny about how distracted she was by Brittany's beauty, she just shakes her head and grins widely, rubbing her thumb lightly over the back of pale knuckles.

"Rachel and Quinn are moving in together," Brittany bounces in her step, revealing her set of perfectly white teeth because she's so excited for them. "How awesome is that?"

Santana nods, shuffling closer until her body presses flush against Brittany's. She sees the flash of adoration and can't help but lean forward to nuzzle their noses together. The second smile transforms into the last one, the one that only happens only around Santana and she feels her insides melt because _ohmygod _Brittany always manages to take her breath away. Even by doing the simplest of things.

"Hi," Brittany whispers, her breath blanketing Santana's lips.

Santana lets out a small chuckle, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as she twists their threaded fingers in an arc beside them. "Hey."

Of course, their little moment has to be ruined by the forgotten woman in the background, enthusiastically clapping her hands together and sighing airily. "You guys are _so _cute."

A mischievous glimmer appears in Brittany's eyes and Santana grins because she knows that look. Her stomach flips and heart flutters as she stares deeply into clear crystal oceans. She doesn't even break eye contact when she speaks again, staring at Brittany but the words directed at Rachel.

"Go home, Berry."

Brittany smiles, resting their foreheads together, and it surprises her because usually the blonde would object to the shooing of her best friend. But instead, Santana reaches up with one hand and brushes away a lock of golden hair, tucking it behind a pale ear before continuing.

"Go home and tell Quinn how you'd do absolutely anything for her. Go and tell her how ridiculously in love you are and how every day is special when you're with her."

Even though the words are orders for Rachel to say to Quinn, Brittany knows they're not really and lets out a long exhale, eyes fluttering shut. Santana grins widely, waving quickly to Rachel with one of their intertwined hands as the smaller brunette slips off the stool and hastily makes her way out the front door, with the loving gleam in her eye that Santana sees in Brittany's right at this moment.

* * *

><p>When the door shuts, she doesn't even hesitate before leaning up a little and pressing their mouths together in a light kiss. Pulling away, she smiles because Brittany pouts in disapproval and follows the trail, bringing their lips back together and deepening the kiss, arms slipping around Santana's neck to secure them together. Her hands instantly fall to Brittany's waist, circling them and tugging their bodies closer together because she can and by fucking God, every time she kissing Brittany it's like Christmas, New Years, Thanksgiving and her birthday put together. Each time is so unique and different, but so fucking special that it makes her want to curl up and weep over how hopelessly in love she is.<p>

Santana hums in approval against Brittany's mouth when a tongue caresses her own and she can't help but giggle, momentarily breaking the kiss because it's pretty hard to make out with someone when you're laughing. Brittany pouts when she pulls away, forehead resting against forehead and brow furrowing because she's not entirely sure what the chuckle is for.

"Is there something funny about my kissing?" Brittany asks teasingly.

Santana shakes her head, groaning lightly when her left hand glides up the length of Brittany's back, marvelling at the soft skin beneath her fingers. "No," she reassures, dropping a kiss to Brittany's cheek, the corner of her mouth and then her lips, "Definitely not."

"Then why the giggling?" Brittany pouts again, her bottom lip sticking out further.

Santana leans up, quickly sucking that bottom lip before pulling back and watching Brittany's eyes quickly cloud over. "I was just thinking about how weird this is." She emphasizes her words by grazing her nails lightly in the dip of Brittany's spine. "Us."

Brittany arches a brow. "Weird?" she punctuates by twirling her fingers through the hairs on Santana's neck. Another thing she used to hate with Sophie, but now loves with Brittany. "How?"

"It's weird how _not _weird it is," she sucks in her lips, tasting Brittany on them. "Like, it's strange how normal this feels."

Brittany grins, pressing a soft kiss up and nods. "I was thinking that last night, actually. It's so normal that it's not normal."

She nods, because yeah, she knows. "I fucking love that."

"Me too."

/

After spending around ten minutes just standing in the kitchen, trading lazy kisses and adoring smiles, they finally get their butts into gear and start cooking chocolate chip pancakes. Santana's standing by the stove, making her first pancake and Brittany's beside her, flicking through a magazine.

"Babe, can you pass me the flour please?"

Santana frowns, pausing her pancake flipping movement and turns. "Why did you need flour?"

"Why do you need to know?" Brittany asks, stepping closer until her front presses against Santana's side.

Santana narrows her eyes, smirking playfully. "Why do you have to answer a question with a question?"

Brittany moves closer, leaning in dangerously close as her lips ghost over lips. "Why do you?" She whispers, breath coating the brunette's face.

Santana leans in, expecting lips to press against her own but about a millisecond before they connect, Brittany pulls away grinning, bag of flour in hand. Brown eyes flicker down, and she shakes her head because _damn, _how can one person be so fucking sexy, adorable, cute and be a ridiculously big tease without being admitted into a psychiatric hospital for multiple personality disorder?

She chuckles at her own stupid thoughts and kicks her foot out, lightly tapping Brittany's calf and earning a playful giggle. Brittany just sticks her tongue out, flicking on the radio in the corner and wiggles her butt as soon as the beat comes on.

"Dork," Santana says, returning to making pancakes but keeping an eye on the way Brittany moves because _damn, _Brittany dancing is breath taking _and _erotic.

Brittany moves to the music, opening the bag of flour slowly whilst Santana flips the fourth pancake onto the plate, readying the next batch of mix to pour into the pan. This whole thing is so domestic that she almost feels like she's married again. The thought sends shivers down her spine. Not because the idea of being married to Brittany, because hell, that definitely isn't. It's just the whole idea of getting married again it's just... _Urgh, _she doesn't even want to think about that.

When the sixth pancake is finished, and conveniently, the song on the radio is slowly dimming down, she flicks off the stove. "Baby, breakfast is-"

She doesn't manage to finish her sentence because a wad of flour collides with her cheek, somehow managing to cover half her face from her hairline down to the curve of her chin.. She sputters, smoke clouds of flour puffing out into the air in front of her and suddenly her body stiffens, ceasing all movement for a long minute.

A concerned "Santana?" comes from across the room, but she just stays still, smirking inwardly because she _totally _knows how to play this.

"San?" Brittany comes closer, and Santana can just imagine the apologetic expression on her face seeing as her eyes are closed with the fear of floury eyeballs. "San, are you okay?"

A hand touches her cheek and she decides this is the moment to get revenge. Spinning around, she bends, hands moving around to the curve of Brittany's ass where she hoists, lifting so long legs wrap around her waist.

"Gotcha," she whispers, nuzzling her nose into the crook of Brittany's neck, who's squealing and giggling adorably whilst batting playfully at Santana's shoulder.

Blinking away the flour in front of her eyes, Santana spots the bag of flour in the far corner beside the radio and moves towards it, pausing only to reach inside and grab a handful before smudging it fully into Brittany's face, covering the entire creamy canvas of her skin. Slowly, she releases her grip, Brittany sliding down to the floor with her eyes blinking away the flour and her mouth in a surprised 'o' shape whilst Santana takes a cautious step back, wondering whether Brittany has a spare bag of flour somewhere, just in case.

"Shouldn't mess with the Lopez, Britt." Santana giggles, shrugging her shoulders and offering up her floury palms as she moves towards the cupboard above the sink. "You know how we do."

Brittany narrows her eyes, moving from her frozen state to reach behind her and grab the bag of flour with a small smile creeping onto her face. With a mischievous glimmer to her eyes, she slowly stalks towards Santana, burying one hand inside the bag with the other grasping it tightly against her ribs.

"It's _so _on, Lopez," Brittany smirks, retracting her hand and bringing it back to aim at Santana. "It's _so _on."

The last thing Santana sees after raising her hands defensively is a cloud of flour hurtling towards her face.

* * *

><p>"Britt, baby, you know you're gonna lose."<p>

Santana's ducking behind the sofa, which is literally covered in flour - along with half the living room, the majority of the kitchen, the beginning of the hallway and the entirety of her clothing. Luckily, there was a spare bag of flour above the sink so she didn't go unarmed, but _unluckily, _her bag only has about two handfuls left until she's out of ammo.

"Honey, please," Brittany calls back, her voice sounding like it's coming from the kitchen. "You know I could win if I wanted too."

Santana lets out a small chuckle, moving in her crouched position towards the kitchen with bag of flour still in hand. She approaches the doorway of the kitchen, standing up so she can back against up against the wall, completely shielded from any flour throwing attempt.

"Oh, yeah?" she smirks, "How's that?"

"Like this."

She waits, frozen with ears perked up so she can hear any movement coming from inside the kitchen. When nothing follows, she glances around the living room, noting at the back of her mind how long it's going to take to clean it up, before thinking if Brittany's taped her voice and hidden it in the kitchen, in attempt to trick Santana. Brittany _is _that sneaky.

"You're not gonna win that easily, Pierce." Santana calls out, resisting the urge to peer around the corner and into the kitchen.

"Oh, really?" The words don't come out muffled like she expected, and it dawns on her that Brittany must be standing and freely vulnerable for Santana to beat. Judging by the volume too, Brittany's close, so loading her palm with a handful of flour, she places down the bag and braces herself to lurch forward and throw aimlessly.

However it doesn't exactly go like that, because as she spins on her heels, into the kitchen, the flour falls freely to the floor and her mouth drops into an 'o' shape. Because of course, there's Brittany, standing in the centre of the kitchen, one hand grasping the hem of her pajama t-shirt to hold it up around her shoulders, revealing perfect breasts, pink nipples and abs to die for.

Santana's mouth runs dry and she's pretty sure her eyes are about to jump out her head, but she still feels the surge of electricity shoot straight to her crotch and snaps her thighs together. Brittany lets out a small chuckle, before stepping closer, still holding her top up and her free arm snaked around her back. But Santana's way too wrapped up in the way the blonde's breasts bounce with every step, and the way her stomach muscles flex with the movement to even notice that a flour wielding hand is hurtling towards her face. Seconds later, flour is covering the entire width and length of her face, as well as the majority of her neck and ledge of her t-shirt covered breasts and Brittany's just standing there with a smirk.

"What was that about winning?" Brittany teases, scrunching her face up and grinning widely, the most adorable chuckle coming from her pink lips.

That's when Santana's brain finally kicks in, and she snaps her mouth shut, shaking herself out the daze as she narrows her eyes dangerously at Brittany.

"Totally _not _fair," she says, feigning anger.

But Brittany just shrugs and blinks innocently, "Who said anything about playing fair?"

She takes this as a message and leaps across the gap, ducking to press her shoulder to Brittany's stomach and lift until the blonde is hauled over her shoulder, legs banging against her chest and hands steadying themselves on the small of her back. The remains of Brittany's flour is now on the floor, and a large amount of it is spread across about seven or eight of the kitchen tiles, and an idea pops into her head.

Crouching once more, she lowers herself to her knees in front of the floor covered tiles, ignoring the giggles and chuckles coming from Brittany and then slowly slips the blonde from her shoulders. Brittany curls back, not noticing the flour beneath her and fully lays onto it, the white powder covering the entire expanse of her back, top of her shoulders and arms and tangling into her golden locks. Her knees bend as they move to bracket Santana's thighs and her palms slap the floor beside her own hips.

"Hey!" Brittany squeals when she notices the flour she's lying on. "You're not allowed to manhandle me! That's not fair!"

Santana leans back, in between Brittany's legs with her kneecaps brushing the blonde ass and shrugs. "Who said anything about playing fair?" She repeats, winking.

Brittany grins up at her, shaking her head and it barely takes ten seconds before Santana's being tugged down, her hips fitting over Brittany's and her hands grabbing at Brittany's wrists to pin them above the blonde head of hair as lips meet in soft kisses. They peck at each other repeatedly, taking turns to lean up and duck to meet each other's mouth and not being able to hold a kiss for longer as they're both still laughing. But soon enough, the laughter subsides and when Santana pulls back to look into deep blue eyes, she feels the adoring love overflow her body and completely forgets about the heaps of flour they're lying in and covered in.

Slowly, Santana releases her grip from pale wrists and tangles one of their hands together, the other coming to brush over Brittany's nose.

"You're covered in flour," she points out, swiping away the spot with her finger.

Brittany scrunches her nose and smiles, legs curling until her ankles can lock at the small of Santana's back, "So are you."

Santana grins, shaking her head and ducking to place a languid kiss to Brittany's lips, tongue slowly trailing over a bottom lip as she sucks it in gently. "We look ridiculous," she says, pulling away.

"We _are _ridiculous," Brittany replies, leaning up again to capture lips with her own.

They kiss slowly, Santana slowly pulling in Brittany's bottom lip and sucking gently. A deep throaty moan of appreciation comes from the pit of her her stomach and she feels her eyes roll backwards when a soft tongue grazes against the underside of her top lip. Slowly, her fingertips make a trail from the crook of Brittany's elbow, up her bicep, over a pale shoulder and up her neck until she can cradle Brittany's jaw, breaking their kiss to brush her lips in a path along the sharp ledge..

The pulse throbs underneath her touch and she hears an airy sigh come from above her as her tongue pokes out and does a quick swipe over the skin. Seconds later, hands pull at her shoulders, urging her up until their lips brush against each other again, the kisses growing hotter and deeper as slender fingers tangle in Santana's hair, and legs tighten, urging their bodies closer together.

Santana forces herself to break the kiss as their hips start rocking together, rubbing up against her barely clothed member and making her harder than she already is. A semi hard-on she can handle with a quick and very cold shower. But a full on boner is literally painful to endure, and she'll have to explain to Brittany why she has to sneak off into the back room with a handful of Kleenex and some hand lotion - so _yeah, _probably best if she stops.

"Britt Britt Britt," she chants, resting her forehead against Brittany's and squeezing her eyes shut. "Cool down," she swallows thickly, "We need to cool down."

Brittany nods frantically, forehead slipping from a light layer of sweat neither of them knew was there. "Yeah, cool down."

Santana's eyes crack open and she practically feels her insides burst into flames with love and adoration. Staring back at her, she can only see the same feeling mirrored and practically melts onto Brittany, forehead resting onto a pale shoulder and body slumping fully onto the one beneath her. She lets out a small laugh and wiggles her hips enticingly , earning a half-giggle and half-groan.

"We're like two teenagers," Brittany chuckles, her hands moving down to span underneath the hem of Santana's shirt.

Santana hears her giggle muffle against Brittany's shoulder. "Yeah, hormonal and horny."

Brittany shrugs underneath her and she lifts her head, gazing into piercing blue eyes whilst slender fingers trace the line of her brow, "We're just making up for lost time," Brittany says, smiling brightly.

Although Santana agrees by smiling back, she feels something twinge in her stomach and her lips pinch up at the side. She thinks back to her teenage years, where she'd spend her nights coming over to Brittany's house and discussing the dates they'd gone on only hours before. Where she'd snuggle up to Brittany and fall asleep listening to her heart beat, not quite realising that the fluttering she felt in her stomach was actually the beginnings of love. She thinks back to all the times she watched Brittany, thinking how wonderful her best friend was, when in reality, she was just falling madly, deeply and hopelessly in love.

And then she thinks back to the time where she talked to Brittany about it.

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey, Britt-Britt?" 18 year old Santana called from the bathroom, toothbrush wedged between her teeth and cheek.<em>

_Brittany swung around the door, eyes bright and grin wide. "Yes, bestie?"_

_Santana couldn't help but grin. "Can I talk to you about something?"_

_Brittany nodded, taking a step until she could wrap her arms around Santana's waist and pull their bodies together. Looking at their reflection, Santana felt at ease and leaned back into the touch, loving the way her heart fluttered whenever Brittany touched her. _

_For a few weeks it'd been like that. Every time blue eyes locked with brown, Santana felt a small blush creep across her skin and it was like her insides were melting into a puddle of emotions. Everything the blonde did just brought the largest grin to her face, whether it was something stupid like walking into a lamp post or something that should be boring like sorting out her sock drawer. There was no way to explain it, and it'd been nagging at the back of her mind for ages. All she knew was that Brittany made her happy._

"_Are you still dating Brandon?" Santana asked after bringing one hand up to tug her hair into a side ponytail and leaning down to spitting out her mouthful of toothpaste._

_Brittany frowned slightly, but shook her head despite the strangeness of the question. "No, we broke up."_

_Something light bounced in Santana's stomach but she ignored it, turning around to face her best friend. "Why?"_

"_Why what?"_

"_Why did you break up with him?"_

_The sides of Brittany's mouth tugged down into a pondering frown as her eyes wandered off, hands slipping around to toy with the front of Santana's tank top. For a split second, Santana could have sworn she saw a flash of panic behind blue eyes. _

"_It just didn't feel right with him," Brittany shrugged, biting her lip like she was trying to conceal something."He wasn't what I wanted."_

"_And what do you want?" Santana replied almost instantly, shocking herself with the speed of her response._

_Something heavy crept into the atmosphere, and considering they were standing in their dorm's bathroom, getting ready for bed, it was pretty strange. Placing her toothbrush to the counter, she pushed her butt off the lip of the counter and placed her hands on Brittany's hips, lips pressing to her forehead because so far there' ha been a lack of answer, and a distinct sadness edging at Brittany's expression._

"_I don't know," Brittany shrugged again, head ducking to her chest and eyes darting down to her fingers, still playing with the tight fabric covering Santana's abs. "I mean, we're only 18," she glanced up to meet brown eyes, something flashing with the blue. "How do we know what we want?"_

_She felt like there was something secretive behind Brittany's words and frowned. It was never like Brittany to talk like this. Usually she wasn't' serious, and relationships were always a bit of fun for both of them. The only real thing they ever had constant in their lives was each other, and they were happy._

"_Well, you know what you _don't _want," her hands glided around to press against the small of Brittany's back, pulling their bodies together as she rested her butt against the counter once more - legs spreading to make room for her best friend. "So I mean, you could always start from there."_

_Brittany pinched her lips up at the side of her mouth. "I don't know San..."_

"_Just try," Santana interjected with hope lacing her tone. Even though she had no idea what she was really hoping for. "Like, why did you break up with him? Why wasn't he what you wanted?"_

_Brittany fingers paused in their movement as she breathed in deeply, shoulders rising and then falling heavily like a popped balloon. "I guess I just wanted someone who could be on both sides of the scales."_

_Curious, Santana narrowed her eyes. "Both sides of what scales?"_

"_You know," Brittany moved closer until her hips fitted with Santana's, all space removed as she brought her eyes up. "Like a best friend and a partner."_

_She felt her breath hitch in her throat, vocal chords becoming useless as she tried to swallow against a dry mouth. There was something so suggestive, yet so innocent that Santana couldn't quite work out what the hell Brittany was trying to say. Was there a subtle hint? Could there possibly be the confusion of fluttering hearts and flipping stomachs be felt by both of them, hence the strange expressions they were sharing? She thought it could've just been her, merely acknowledging how wonderful Brittany was and loving every second of it._

_Unless of course, it was more._

_No, that was ridiculous. They were best friends._

"_Yeah?" She managed to croak out, fingers flexing where they rested on the small of Brittany's back._

_Brittany worried her bottom lip between her teeth, nodding slowly as her eyes poured with something Santana couldn't quite recognise. "Yeah."_

_They looked at each other with some gleaming behind both their eyes. Santana obviously couldn't see herself, but the way Brittany was gazing into her eyes, she knew that she was showing it too. The more she glanced into blue, the more she started sieving through the emotions and narrowing down to the last remaining few. They had always been best friends. Literally never straying from each other's sides and all of a sudden it felt like something was changing between them. The atmosphere shifted and the fluttering inside her stomach became way too much because she knew exactly what wondering over those feelings would do. To her. To Brittany. To their relationship._

_Clearing her throat, she shook herself from the weird daze she'd fallen under and booped Brittany's nose, lightening the atmosphere. "Hey, maybe we should give it a go," she chuckled, attempting to remove some of the tension. "Best friend right here and I'm an _incredible _girlfriend I'll have you know."_

_Brittany snapped her head up, locking eyes instantly as her face etched with fear. "What?"_

_Panicked, Santana's mind raced with things she could reply with. All of which seemed to be muddled up letters and didn't actually make any sense. "Maybe we should just give it a go," she tried again, forcing her voice to stay stable. "See where things head."_

_Narrowing her eyes, Brittany dropped her gaze and shook her head slowly. "Just give it a go? See where things end up with the possibility of ruining our friendship?"_

"_What?" Santana asked, feeling the way Brittany shifted out from her arms, so they hung awkwardly int he air. "No, Britt I me-"_

"_Doesn't matter, San." Brittany sucked in a deep breath and forced a smile onto her face. "We're best friends. That's how we work and have worked for years."_

"_Whoah, Britt," Santana raised her hands defensively, "I was only joking."_

_Brittany looked at her blankly._

"_Just a joke?" She tried, putting a smile onto the side of her mouth. "I was only thinking casual sex anyway," she winked, hating the way ihe lie racked at her brain. "Nothing serious."_

"_Nothing serious," Brittany repeated, her voice low as her head twisted away from Santana's._

_Santana chortled. "Yeah, you didn't think I wanted anything more than casual, did you?"_

_And that's when Brittany ducked her chin to her chest, letting out a long exhale whilst her head shook from side to side. "Of course not," she said, slowly. "You only do casual."_

_Santana let out a forced laugh, throwing her hand around flippantly like she didn't' actually care for Brittany's reaction. It'd been like a slap in the face. Sure, she'd said she was joking, but she really wasn't. Her best friend's reaction was like a slap in the face with a wet fish. She tried to play it cool, freaked out and ultimately kind of put out there that she was some type of sex fiend, but that really wasn't it. Trying to suggest to Brittany that she wanted to acting on her feelings had completely backfired, and now she just looked like a complete idiot._

_And it hurt a hell of a lot more than she thought it would, since apparently those fluttery feelings that'd been twisting in her stomach were only one-sided._

_She swore never to think about them again._

* * *

><p>"Honey?" Brittany coos, hand cupping her cheek gently. "Where'd you go?"<p>

She glances down, eyes locking with blue and it's like a punch to the heart remembering those times. "Nowhere," she shakes her head, "Sorry, just spaced out."

Blue eyes narrow for about a millisecond as they scan her expression.

"What's wrong?" Brittany asks straight after the examination, stroking her thumb across the apple of Santana's cheek, eyes flashing with concern.

She shuffles, pressing her forearms to the floor tiles as the fingers on her left hand run through blonde locks from Brittany's temple backwards. "Can I ask you something?"

Fear etches its way across Brittany's face, but Santana quickly removes it as she ducks her head, lips pressing to lips in a slow, reassuring kiss. Pulling away, she mumbles, "It's nothing bad, promise," and watches Brittany's face soften.

"Okay," Brittany whispers, fingers stroking down the dip in Santana's spine. "What's up?"

"It's just..." she trails off, licking her lips and trying to find the right way to word it correctly. That last thing she wants is to unintentionally offend Brittany, or back out for that matter. This question's been rumbling around in her brain for too long and now she just wants to know the answer. It's not like it'll change anything. It can't. She's too madly in love for anything to change. "Do you remember, back in college-"

Brittany's face falls, because _yeah, _she does remember.

"-When I suggested that you know," she coughs, trying to push away the nerves she feels. "About like, us..." her head ducks, eyes pleading with Brittany to finish her sentence.

"Getting together?" Brittany does finish it, fear still present in her eyes.

Santana nods shakily. "Yeah," she breathes out, putting all her weight onto her forearms, propping herself up so she can get a good look at Brittany's face. "Well," it's seriously a hell of a lot more difficult to say it, than she expected. "I was just like, wondering..." she pauses when Brittany twirls a piece of hair between her fingers, "_whyyousaidno?"_

Brittany pulls back as far as she can against the tiles, brows furrowing and eyes searching brown like the answers are there already. A pink lips tugs between bright white teeth and by the time Santana takes a deep breath in, filling her lungs and exhaling through pursed lips, Brittany's ready to speak.

"Can we sit up to talk about this?"

Santana blinks. _Not _what she was expecting to here. Nodding, she pushes up from the ground, leaning back on her knees and twisting until she's sitting crossed legged on the floor. Brittany looks at her, smiles, laughs and then copies her movement until their facing each other, kneecaps touching and fingers tangled together in the gap between their shins.

Shyly, Santana glances up, feeling her head thudding hard against her chest even though she doesn't have a reason to be like this. "Was it something I did then?"

Brittany shakes her head, eyes focused on their laced fingers as her thumb rubs over the back of tanned knuckles. "No, not really. It's just," she glances up through her lashes and sucks in her lips, "I'm going to be honest, okay? So don't get offended if you are..." She tilts her head, eyes flickering up, "That doesn't make sense, but you get what I mean."

Santana chuckles throatily before nodding and waiting, heart pounding.

"It's just," Brittany clears her throat, takes in a deep breath and then locks eyes with Santana. "When you suggested it, I got scared."

Dark brows scrunch together, confused.

"Because I had these feelings for you, that I didn't understand because they'd started from the day we met, at the basketball courts. I think it was the day after you came back from Jenny Cooper's house, you know you're Freshman year girlfriend?"

Santana nods.

"Yeah, well her, and you told me you lost your virginity to her and I started to feel something inside my stomach that made me panic," she emphasizes by releasing one of their hands and pushing it to her stomach, lips pursing with the memory of the emotion. "And being 15 I didn't really know what it was, and so I went and slept with Matt Rutherford because I freaked out."

Santana winces, teeth gritting at the memory and she feels Brittany's fingers re-thread with her spare hand, trying to calm her body which she now realizes has stiffened in reaction. She remembers that day because it was literally the day she began looking at Brittany different, and noticing things she hadn't before. Like the swell of her chest, or the length of her God legs. All these things started stealing her vision and she couldn't focus. So gradually she had begun to spend more time with Jenny, her girlfriend back then, and less time with Brittany.

_Damn, _even back then they were as bad as each other. Freaking out and trying to treat it by sleeping with other people. _Typical._

"Then everything sort of cooled down after that, but then when we got to college, and we moved into the same dorm, those feelings started coming back and this time they were a hell of a lot stronger. You started acting different and although we were really touchy already, it was different."

Santana nods along, because she remembers the night Brittany laid her head on her chest and snuggled closely until it was hard to define where one body began and one ended. She remembers how much she just wanted to tilt Brittany's face up, stare into bright blue eyes that illuminated the dark room and press her lips to perfect pink ones. All of those times where she'd been feeling strange, and conscious that somehow Brittany could sense it, in fact, Brittany felt them too.

It brings a smile to her face.

"And then when you brought it up that day in the bathroom," Brittany bottom lip quivers visibly as she sucks a shaky breath. "You were so casual and jokey about us turning into something more than it kind of slapped me in the face."

Santana almost laughs at the irony of the situation.

"Because I had been thinking about it, a lot, and I was considering bringing it up but then you were just so casual about it, and throwing away our friendship that it made me think in some ways you were just..." Brittany shrugs, "messing me around."

Jaw dropping open, Santana leans forward, arms encircling Brittany's waist until she hoists their bodies together, the blonde on her lap with pale legs wrapped around her back and their chests pushed flush up against each other. "Britt I-"

"No," Brittany sobs lightly, "Please just let me finish."

Santana nods, bringing their heads back until their foreheads rest against one another, "Okay, baby."

"I had so many feelings for you that even I wasn't sure of," Brittany's eyes gloss over with unshed tears and it makes Santana want to punch her old self in the head. Sure, she'd been scared back then too, but the way it came across obviously hurt Brittany and there was never an intention to hurt her. If she'd known that she'd done that, she would've done everything possible, even hurting herself, to make sure that what she'd said and meant didn't hurt Brittany. "And you were just so flippant about throwing away our friendship just for _sex, _that it made me think maybe you weren't ready for something real between us."

"So _that's_ why you rejected me?"

Brittany's face falls, body tensing underneath Santana's touch and pulls back so she can see the slightly angered expression on the blonde's face.

"I thought you'd be a little more sensitive, San," Brittany monotones, pulling her hands away to untangle from Santana's.

Santana shakes her head, guilt flushing through her as she pulls Brittany closer, not wanting to let her get away. "No, Britt Britt, I'm just saying that because I only said about sex because I thought you rejected me and it was an awkward and obviously stupid way of trying to get out of the situation."

Fair brows furrow. "I-I don't get it," Brittany says, puzzled.

"Britt," Santana lets out softly, "I wanted _us _too. Like, not sex and us, although that's _fucking_ amazing," she winks and earns a playful slap on her bicep before Brittany's hand cup the nape of her neck, "But I mean like us. I felt everything you felt, and I suggested it to see your reaction. But I was shitting bricks and when you said about ruining our friendship I thought you didn't want anything," she shrugs and blinks away the sudden heat prickling at her eyelids as they cast downwards. "And I thought that was you subtly rejecting me."

She doesn't even know if she's capable of looking up as Brittany's fingers rake through her dark locks.

"Baby," Brittany says softly, enticing Santana's gaze with the tone. "Baby, look at me."

Slowly, she lifts her gaze, meeting bright blue eyes. Brittany smiles, lips pressing together as the side of her mouth tugs up, causing the crinkle to form and her cheeks to rise. "So you've wanted us all along?"

Santana sucks in her lips, hesitating for barely a second before she nods. The truth's finally out and _God, _it's so strange to finally release something that's been eating her up for such a long time.

"Always," she whispers seconds before lips press against her own, gliding softly together and a hum of approval sliding up the back of her throat and erupting from her mouth. She feels Brittany's smile against her lips and it makes her smile back, their teeth bumping slightly but neither of them actually caring. Elation floats through her body and it's like a million balloons are tied to her limbs, making her glide through the air and _fuck_, it feels amazing. They exchange slow kisses, revelling in the feel of each other's mouths and how perfectly they mould together. Two perfect pieces that sure, got lost along the way, but made it there in the end.

By the time she knows what's going on, her hands are sliding down the back of pale panties, grasping the flesh of Brittany's ass and pulling tightly until their bodies practically mould into each other. The kiss breaks, with Brittany's lips trailing a perfect line of soft open mouthed ones down the length of Santana's neck, tongue sweeping out to trace along the ridge of her collarbone. The sensation bottoms out in the apex of her thighs but it's only greeted by a grind of Brittany's hips.

_Oh God, _they're getting to _that _point again.

Except this time, she notices where her hands are, and how Brittany's not arguing as their hips start rocking together, grinding slowly and moving with practised ease. "I thought-" she gulps, panting heavily as her fingers start kneading subconsciously, "I thought we were taking this slowly..." she breathes out, gasping when teeth graze against her throbbing pulse.

"That was then," Brittany breaks away long enough to press a lingering kiss to Santana's lips, tongue instantly probing past lips and caressing another. "This is now."

Debating whether or not to argue her point, she pulls back, watching Brittany's face question her for about a millisecond before a low, throaty moan erupts from the blonde's lips, blue eyes snapping shut when Santana wiggles her hips unconsciously. Brittany quickly sweeps her own t-shirt off with one swift movement, golden locks falling wildly around creamy shoulders before crashing their lips back together, pale arms instantly snaking around a tanned neck and pulling possessively close.

"The pancakes..." Santana mumbles against the blonde's mouth, not entire sure why the hell she does because Brittany's lips are pressing against her own, muffling the words.

Brittany barely even moves back before grinning widely, blue eyes sparkling mischievously. "Fuck the pancakes," she says before pushing Santana back and pressing open mouthed kisses along a tanned jawline.

* * *

><p><strong>You know what to do (please)<strong>


	22. chapter twenty two

**Re-uploaded. Something like two hundred words added but now it makes more sense. Apologies if you thought it was a new chapter!**

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Twenty Two]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>8.2k

* * *

><p>Santana licks the roof of Brittany's mouth before breaking the kiss, moving to gently nip her way down Brittany's jawline, neck, collarbone and cleavage. She bites back the smile when fingers tangle into her hair, urging her closer and slowly slips her tongue, tracing a wet path across a pale breast to a pink nipple, where she flicks across it. Listening to the moan coming from the body above her, her hands glide down to the underside of Brittany's thighs, fingers tightening their grip to shuffle the blonde closer in her lap, her tongue rolling around the soft flesh and sucking lightly.<p>

"_San..."_Brittany moans, grinding her hips defiantly as her nails graze against Santana's scalp.

Releasing with a soft smack, Santana glances up, smirking as her fingers slide underneath the edge of Brittany's panties. Massaging gently, her eyes stay focused on the way blue eyes flutter shut, pink lips pop open and soft groans of appreciation tumble from them.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," she murmurs, her hands sliding down to where Brittany's ass meets her thighs and stretching her middle finger out, the top gliding over a slick entrance and teasing tantalisingly.

Brittany's body arches into her, breasts pushing roughly against her own as both their breathing grows shallow. Touching the blonde has always been erotic, but being able to do it like this, and being able to physically watch how Brittany reacts to her touches is like the highest level of arousing that can actually be reached with a single finger.

"_Jesus, _San," Brittany bites her bottom lip - _hard_- when Santana applies a little more pressure, and runs her finger up Brittany's slit as far as she can get without removing her arm and starting from the front. "I _need _you."

Santana arches a brow, lifting her hips and rocking them to add a little more pressure until her finger sinks in, only the tip, but enough to make Brittany groan loudly and for her cock to grow about another two inches. She lifts her heads, catching lips between her own and licking her way through teeth until their tongues tangle sloppily.

All the finesse of their usual kisses has gone, but then again, they are so horny and into what they're doing that they're probably going to have sex on the flour covered floor of the kitchen – so trying to keep the finesse in tact is definitely at the back of her mind.

Considering she's still sitting cross legged, it's pretty hard for Brittany to reach her stiffening member when a pale hand glides down there, so she shuffles, kicking out her legs straight and making their lips bump together from the slight drop in height. They both giggle into the kiss, tongues retracting and lips still touching, but breaths trading from the giggles. Santana dips her finger in a little further, feeling the tightness encase her skin and groans, like _loudly, _which makes Brittany smile into the kiss.

Brittany's hand dips between her own legs to reach between Santana's, beneath the pyjama bottoms and curls her fingers around the brunette's stiff cock, gripping it firmly and rubbing in slow circles, grip tightening lightly at the base. They both groan when Santana sinks her finger in knuckle deep, curling slightly and making Brittany shudder with anticipation and arousal.

She can literally _feel _the arousal dripping from the blonde and it kind of makes her want to come right there and then, _especially _when Brittany strokes her shaft faster and faster, enticing her to pick up the past and thrust carefully but surely inside of the blonde.

They start moving together, thrusting, rocking and grinding until Santana knows that this isn't enough. Pressing one lingering kiss up, she slides her finger out, two groans of disapproval merging into one and completely releases her grip from Brittany. The movement on her dick stops completely and she leans in quickly, to whisper in Brittany's ear that she's only taking her top off.

Brittany nods, and moves her hand away, all intimate contact releases as she supports herself with her strong stomach muscles. Santana moves her hands down to take off her own top when pale fingers wrap around her wrists, halting the movement before it's even finished.

"Let me," Brittany whispers, eyes sparkling with seduction.

Santana shakes her head, grinning and lifts her arms above her head - like a child would do. "Go ahead, m'lady."

"Dork," the blonde says playfully, leaning in to ghost her lips over Santana's as she whips the brunette's top off quickly with one swift motion and chucking it into the pile of flour behind them.

Santana shrugs when the fabric is off, leaving her clad in nothing but pyjama bottoms, and Brittany in only panties. "You're the one that fell in love with me," she grins.

Brittany glides her hand up to grip at Santana's neck, pulling their faces closer and brushing their lips together teasingly. "I did. And now we're going to have sex."

It still sends flutters and flips through Santana's body, and when she shivers with approval, she crushes their lips back together in a hungry open mouthed kiss, all tongue and no tender caring. When oxygen becomes a necessity, she breaks their kiss and moves down to lick her way up Brittany's neck, only to go over a patch of flour and scrunch her face up with disgust.

"Gross," she says, papping her mouth together with disapproval, "Totally not hot when I have a mouth full of flour."

Brittany giggles, hard, but then brings their lips back together and probes past teeth with her tongue, licking the inside of Santana's mouth and then pulling away. "Better?"

Wide eyed, and slightly dazed, Santana nods frantically – legs quivering at the aftermath of the kiss. "If you do _that _every time I have flour in my mouth," she half-pants, licking her lips to punctuate the sentence, "I'm gonna eat it like _all _the time."

Brittany smirks. "Shut up," she murmurs before leaning down and moulding their mouths back together.

Moving with renewed vigour, somehow they manage to manoeuvre themselves enough to shun Brittany's panties over her thighs and down to her ankles without moving all that much. Then they shuffle up against the cupboard beneath the sink, Santana's back to it, legs out straight and a naked blonde still straddling her lap, knees bracketing her hips with her feet by tanned shins.

Santana wraps one arm around Brittany's back, lowering her mouth to a pert nipple and closing her lips around it to twirl her tongue around it lightly. Her fingers slide down Brittany's abs, with her silently adoring how they twitch under her touch and dance on top of slick folds, barely even dipping in but enough to tease.

An approving moan comes from above and she feels an insistent hand tug at the side of her pyjama bottoms, causing her to smile against the flesh. Teeth grazing across it quickly, and soothing with a quick flick off her tongue, she pulls back with a soft pop and grins up.

"Off," Brittany demands playfully, pointing towards the pyjama bottoms covering Santana's legs, with a tented crotch.

Santana happy obliges, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and pushing down until they can't reach any further. Above her, Brittany lifts slightly, allowing her to move to make quick work of the fabric until they're lingering somewhere down by her calves, and letting her thighs spread open so her cock can bounce free, resting on her stomach.

Despite having sex many times before – sure, only once with Brittany – this is probably the most nerve racking time. Even worse than their first time, or her first time in general with Jenny Cooper. Because whilst it was amazing and tender and everything she could have ever wanted with Brittany, it was also so intense and emotional that neither of them were really that focused on each other – not to mention it wasn't in day time, with the sunlight beaming through the windows and making _everything _visible.

So now, with _literally _everything hanging out, the nerves are getting the better of her.

"Jesus," Brittany breathes, blue eyes locked on Santana's cock, which just happens to twitch with arousal as a hand slowly wraps around it.

Santana lets out a chuckle, despite knowing the reason for Brittany's surprised tone, she says, "You act like you've never seen it before," anyway.

"Not like this," Brittany smirks, eyes gleaming mischievously.

Santana tenses her thigh muscles when Brittany leans down, pushing their lips together at the same time she starts stroking the brunette's shaft at a glacial pace. "_Fuck," _she moans, grinding her hips up.

It's all been so frantic and fast that neither of them have really taken notice of how this is their second time having sex. Everything slows down, the atmosphere sinking slightly, but still staying hot enough that if Santana was wearing a shirt, she'd be plucking at the collar from the sweat building around her neck. Their kiss slows too, lips brushing against one another with such delicacy, and tongues sensually caressing, creating a smooth rhythm that makes Santana's heart want to jump out it's chest – but in a good way.

She exhales heavily, marvelling in the way their bodies are still moving perfectly together, with the correct balance between arousal and emotion, so it's not like they're dry-humping on the floor – even if they kind of are. One of them, they're not sure who, pulls back, breaking the kiss and then they're staring into each other's eyes, deeply, watching their emotions flash across eyes.

Santana lifts her hand, brushing away a lock of blonde hair and tucking it carefully behind Brittany's ear. "Hi," she murmurs, barely focusing on the hand still gripping her member.

Brittany smiles breathlessly, "Hey."

They both remain still, doing nothing but exchanging warm exhalations of breath and staring into each other's eyes like they'll never see each other again. But it's not that. In fact, it's basically the complete opposite. It's the renewal of the realization that they'll _always _see each other, because they belong to each other now. It's not like they weren't each other's before, it's just they never really realized it and with the brand new intimacy and acceptance of love, it's moulded their hearts together and practically made them one soul. One that can't live without the other.

Soulmates.

She sees the glint in blue eyes that makes her arousal ten fold and nods slowly, watching the way Brittany's chest moves up and down with her rapid intakes of breath. Brittany rises, pressure on her knees as she moves Santana's cock towards her entrance, all the time locking eyes with brown with no speck of uncertainty. A sharp gasp escapes her lips when she feels the tip of her member rub through soaking folds, coating her in moisture and makes her hips roll instinctively.

Then something snaps into her minds, and her hands shoot up to grab at Brittany's hips, stilling the movement that both of them are so deeply yearning for.

"Condom?" She says quickly, bottom lip tugging between teeth and biting hard because _God, _she's _so fucking close _that she kind of hates herself for being responsible.

Half-lidded blue eyes stare down at her, a fair brow arching quizzically. "I don't have any in my kitchen, San," Brittany says playfully, "It's not usually where I have sex."

Santana arches a brow, but still giggles. "So where _do _you keep them? Kind of..." she glances down at her twitching member, only centimetres away from it's throbbing destination, then back up again to a smirking blonde. "...in the middle of something here?"

Brittany leans down, smiling as their lips press together chastely. Then, next thing Santana knows, there's no blonde on her lap, or in the room for that matter, and the cold air tinges at her hot skin, making her wince at the sensation. Brittany practically sprints back two seconds later, straddling Santana once more, but further down so her bare ass is against tanned thighs.

"That was quick," Santana smiles, leaning up to capture ridiculously addictive pink lips once more, running her tongue over the smooth flesh before pulling between her teeth and nipping lightly.

"Would you have preferred me to be longer?" Brittany teases when they pull apart, pecking lips once more before bringing the condom up to her mouth and tearing the wrapper open.

The mere sight of blue eyes twinkling with arousal, seduction and all the erotic emotions possible, makes Santana groan lowly, and she ducks her head, pressing her forehead to the hollow of Brittany's neck and breathing heavily onto perfect breasts. Her hands slide up Brittany's waist, grazing lightly over her ribs and towards pink nipples where she rolls them between her thumb and forefinger.

"Definitely not," she grins pressing a kiss to Brittany's cleavage before bringing her head back and staring into sparkling sapphire eyes. "Would you like to do the honours?" she juts her chin towards the condom still between slender fingers and grins.

Brittany nods, but then leans down to brush their lips together whilst she chucks the wrapper behind them, and the condom towards Santana's tip, lingering momentarily to sweep her tongue inside of the brunette's mouth before rolling it over gently. She would say she's already at full length, but with Brittany's slender fingers slowly rolling the condom on, whilst gently stroking her shaft, somehow she's managed to grow a good few inches more.

"Ready?" Brittany lifts up slightly, hovering over Santana's stiffened cock and waiting for a response.

Santana leans up, silently answering with a gentle suck of Brittany's bottom lip and then pulls back again, sucking in her own lips when the tip of her dick runs through slick folds once more, bumping the hardened nub at the top. Slender fingers move her with ease until it circles Brittany's entrance, and without anymore hesitation, the blonde slowly lowers herself, easing the thick shaft into her and grabbing at Santana's shoulder with her spare hand.

"_Oh..." _Brittany groans, squeezing her eyes shut as tanned hands shoot up to her waist.

Santana widens her eyes, knowing that whilst sure, they've had sex before, it's probably a tight fit considering now they don't have the cloud of emotions blocking their physical reactions. Even with Sophie, all those times they had sex, Sophie never fully adjusted to the size, and usually just sunk halfway down, enough to get herself off with the help of her own right hand.

Santana watches intensely, examining the way Brittany swivels her hips, rocking forward slightly and she resists the urge to thrust up, sheathing herself fully inside of Brittany and bites on her bottom lip hard - wondering how the hell some could be so perfect, so moist and wet, so tight and soft, and _Jesus, just so fucking amazing._

"You alright, baby?" Santana pants, humming as about two more inches are taken in.

Brittany bites on her bottom lip, nodding and then rises up, before sinking back down a little further. Santana can feel her heart pounding a mile a minute, and by God, it's only been a few days but she seriously feels like she's been waiting for this for years. Not the whole sex thing – but yeah, that too - but the renewal of their intimate connection and discovering new ways their bodies know each other. Finding out more reasons for why they're just so damn perfect together.

Out of instinct, she removes the hand from her shoulder, turning it palm up and pressing delicate kisses to the skin in some sort of comforting gesture. Blue eyes slowly open, a soft smile tugging at the corners of Brittany's mouth and Santana breathes out, stomach sucking in when she feels her entire length being engulfed by incredible warmth and then lips press against her own.

"_Fuck_," Santana moans into Brittany's mouth, exhaling heavily and then dropping her hands to grip at a trim waist, steadying herself whilst her thumbs rub in circular motions of protruding hipbones. Her eyes flutter shut at the warmth, feeling how Brittany stretches to accommodate her size and if she wasn't as deeply and madly in love as she possibly could be, she'd think she just fell in love even more. _"Jesus, baby, _you feel so fucking good."

Brittany hums in approval, lifting her hands up to cup tanned cheeks and bring their eyes to meet in an intense gaze. Brown eyes slowly crack open, meeting piercing blue and they both smile sappily at each other, feeling themselves connect in every way possible – body, mind and soul. It's something so much more than sex, something that she's never felt before with anyone else.

Even though they're in the middle of Brittany's kitchen floor, surrounded by flour covered tiles and pancake batter - which is now pooling in a small puddle beside her thigh – it doesn't really matter, like _at all._ It's so much more than sex, it's making love and whether they're in bed, on the kitchen counter, up against a wall or wherever else they might possibly do this in the future – making love is all it'll ever be. End of.

Licking her lips, Santana leans up to bring their mouths back together, tongue immediately delving in and keeping a steady rhythm whilst her hands squeeze lightly, silently requesting Brittany to move. Of course, the request is accepted, and seconds later, Brittany begins to roll her hips forward and then back again in a smooth rhythm.

"_Oh, San..." _Brittany breathes into the brunette's mouth, hands still cupping cheeks but moving around as their lips slip against one another.

Their eyes lock once again, foreheads resting against on another and breaths mingling in the minuscule space between them as they move slightly faster, Santana grinding her hips with every forward roll and making sparks of pleasure burst inside of both their insides. It doesn't feel like she's having sex, even though _yeah it does, _but it feels like everything she's ever wanted is wrapping itself around her, trusting her and willing that she'll never do it any harm.

It's nothing to do with the fact that Brittany feels fucking _incredible, _it's just that since she discovered what love can truly be, it still surprises her. Especially how she has it, right here in the palm of her hand and in the centre of her heart. Why did she ever pursue anything else other than the happiness that was always there, right in front of her nose?

"I love you," she says, without even thinking the words as the escape her lips.

Brittany's hands drop from her cheeks, wrapping around the tanned ones on her waist and tangling their fingers together – all the while, they're hips still moving together perfectly. A smile tugs at pink lips, causing small dimples to form in pale cheeks and _holy crap, _she was wrong again – she totally just fell more in love with Brittany.

"I love you, too," Brittany manages to exhale, eyes fluttering shut at a well timed grind.

When Santana thrusts her hips up to meet that particular grind, the blondes spine buckles and her body falls against the other, leaning heavily whilst a small, _"Right there," _tumbles from Brittany's mouth.

Santana can sense the exhaustion, or coming exhaustion and shuffles forward, lifting both knees until Brittany's propped up, a little higher, with the cock still buried deep inside and begins to move for both of them. With her hands, after she untangles their fingers, she rolls and lifts Brittany's body, closing her eyes at the whimpers and pleasurable sobs that come from the blonde because_ holy shit _that's hot.

Brittany's trembling hands glide up, resting lightly on Santana's shoulder whilst slender fingers dig into tanned skin, biting at the flesh as the brunette makes sure to hit that sweet shuddering spot. They establish a small rhythm, Santana pushing in deeply, holding for a few seconds whilst shaky breaths come from the blonde and then brings her shaft back out, rolling and sliding in gently a few times before repeating the process.

Bursting with pleasure and surges of arousing sparks, Santana feels the heat coil deep inside her stomach and quickens the pace, squeezing lightly on a trim waist until Brittany starts moving with her. She feels herself get closer and hotter, the beginning of her orgasm nearby, and when the blonde brings her head back, slipping one hand to brush away a stray lock of dark hair to reveal more of Santana's face, their lips meet and begin a sensual rhythm – rocks, rolls and thrusts slowing down to match it.

Judging by the warmth tightening around her shaft, she knows Brittany's orgasm is close too and then her breath hitches when the heat becomes too much. Instinctively, she releases one hand to glide down Brittany's abs, the muscles twitching underneath the path until she finds the blondes hardened nub and rubs in small circles. Strong thighs tighten around her hips, fingers biting deeper into tanned shoulders as Brittany braces herself for her impending explosion.

"_San..._" Brittany half-hisses, squeaking as her arms snake around Santana's neck, foreheads rest against each other and hips roll faster and faster. "_I'm gonna..._"

Santana nods, but doesn't have enough time to respond as with one quick brush of her thumb, Brittany falls over the edge, body stiffening and muscles clenching tightly around Santana's cock as the explosion bursts through her body – making her face scrunch up, eyes slam shut and mouth hang open in a small 'o'.

If it weren't for the tightening warmth around her member, Santana would've come at the mere image of Brittany orgasming, but with the combination of both, she feels stars explode behind her eyelids as she thrusts upwards, burying herself hilt deep and shooting everything she has into the condom.

Just like the first time they made love, Santana feels her heart open up and soul wrap around Brittany's, silently asking to be kept safe and warm. A welcoming embrace responds, and moulding their bodies closer together, despite their shuddering and exhausted states, she lifts her head to press their lips together – heightening their experience with soft and slow kisses.

It's like they've forgotten where they are when their eyes lock, and stupidly in love smiles stretch across their faces. It doesn't matter that they're sitting on the kitchen floor, covered in a thin layer of sweat, or that both of them, despite shedding their clothes, are somehow still covered in fucking flour whilst they both fall into the orgasmic unknown.

All that matters if that they're reuniting themselves for a second time, hearts twisting together and melting together so that they both know neither of them will ever be able to prize themselves apart - even if they wanted too, which both of them know is never going to be a possibility.

Panting heavily, lips lingering merely inches away from each other and eyes staring so deeply into each other that they're friggin' souls are visible, Santana grins and feels her whole body glow as blue eyes practically sprinkle her with little flakes of love.

* * *

><p>"We just had sex in my kitchen."<p>

Santana grins, nuzzling her face into the crook of Brittany's neck. "We did."

"That's kind of..."

Pulling back, Santana cocks her head to the side as a small smile etches across her face. She watches as Brittany's face scrunches up, nose twisting and lips curling into a mildly disgusted expression.

"...Unhygienic."

If there was one person who could turn from incredibly sexy to ridiculously adorable, it would be Brittany. Her face contorts with a wide grin, and she physically feels herself brighten because she's madly in love with a complete dork.

"My girlfriend is such a dork," she states, licking her lips and tasting sweat, salt and Brittany on them.

A small blush creeps across creamy cheeks, tinging them with a light shade of pink. Grinning, Santana shakes her head and leans up to brush her lips lightly over Brittany's before shuffling and wincing at the sensation of the bare skin of her thigh sticking to the tiles that aren't covered in flour.

"Baby, can we move?" She lifts her legs slightly, knees bending. "My ass is sticking to the tiles, and that's _really _unhygienic." When Brittany doesn't move, she arches a brow and brings her hands up to cup pale cheeks, lifting her head until their eyes lock. "Baby? What's wrong?"

Blue eyes flicker up, shyly. "You called me your girlfriend," Brittany says, quietly.

Santana grins widely, teeth baring through the smile and nods, even though there's slight hesitation in her voice when she says, "Is that okay?"

Brittany nods, sucking in her lips to try and conceal the Cheshire grin pushing through. "Yes," she says, lowly.

Even though they were pretty much official before it, verbalising just makes it so real. Now she actually gets to say, _Hey, this is my girlfriend, _instead of _This is Brittany, _and by God she wants to go out right now just to drag Brittany around the streets of NYC and introduce her to everyone with the brand new title.

"Awesome," Santana mutters, eyes sparkling with excitement.

She smiles up at her _girlfriend, - _her stomach flips when the word passes through her mind - who smiles back, and even though they're still sitting butt naked on the kitchen floor, her softening penis still lodged inside Brittany, they're just staring at each other, both content just to watch the silent trades of emotions flash across both their eyes. It's such an incredible feeling.

Brittany coughs, then straightens her back rapidly, eyes wide. "We need to get up," she says, glancing down to their connected body parts. "Kinda forgot about this."

"We did that last time," Santana mumbles, following it with a long, throaty groan as Brittany pushes off her shoulders, standing sliding her softened shaft out, still covered in the moist condom. A wad of tissue paper is thrown at her face about a second after her lip curls in disgust, and a giggle follows, making her eyes lift and lock on a perfect ass as Brittany struts towards her bedroom, throwing a dangerously beautiful glance over her shoulder in the doorway.

Santana licks her lips, a goofy smile spreading across them after and grabs the tissue, taking off the condom and balling it up inside before throwing it with complete accuracy into the bin to her right. Her eyes flicker down to the kitchen, then around to the batter by her thigh and she rolls her eyes. Cleaning isn't something she really wants to do after having mind-blowing sex. But you gotta do, what you gotta do.

Reluctantly, she pushes up, wincing at the way her skin peels off the kitchen floor and she spots the sweat patches. Gross, but not surprising. She quickly slips on her pyjama bottoms again, then her t-shirt, deciding cleaning in the nude with Mrs. Anderson watering her plants in the garden beside the kitchen window, probably isn't the best idea. Amusing, but not worth one of Brittany's pouts.

Grabbing another wad of tissue, she begins to clean up, swiping away the single sweaty spot, the puddle of batter and then the patches of flour that are nearby. There's no way she can clean up every single bit with a piece of tissue paper, and she doesn't know where the mop is – but she can try at least.

For some strange reason, her thoughts lead her to Brittany's proposition. Sure, she's going to stay here, but that means she's going to have to go and get some clothes from her apartment. _Oh God, _that means seeing Sophie, and telling Brittany means jealousy – whether it's verbalised or not – and _fuck, _she didn't really think this one through. Maybe instead of screwing Brittany on the kitchen floor, she should have snuck in whilst Sophie was asleep and grabbed her clothes. Would have saved a hell of a lot of hassle.

_Nah, _she thinks, she wouldn't take back the last twenty minutes for _anything._

But she's still got to go back to her apartment regardless.

"Aw, San," Brittany says softly, gliding into the room with a new pair of panties and a tank top on, hands occupied with tying blonde hair into a high ponytail, "You don't have to clean up."

Santana shrugs, pushing on her knees to stand from her crouched position. "It's kind of messy in here. Plus, it's no biggy."

A light brow cocks. "I think I'm going to need to do a general clean considering we just had sex there," she points towards the now-clean spot on the floor, grinning widely. "Imagine Rachel's face if I told her I hadn't cleaned it after."

Santana grins, carelessly dropping the tissue paper to the counter top to wrap her arms around Brittany's waist when she gets close enough. "We should do that," she grins, "Freak the fuck out of Berry."

"San," Brittany warns playfully, arms snaking around a tanned neck. "That would be mean."

"But funny."

"Still mean."

"Okay," Santana manages an eye roll, pressing closer until their hips clash and noses bump together. "We won't. But I can't promise you I won't be telling her."

Brittany lets out a small chuckle, nuzzling her nose affectionately and pressing a kiss to the tip of Santana's nose, pulling away seconds after. "I've gotta clean, we can't have a flour filled apartment," the blonde states, spinning until she can wipe the counter top with a soaked cloth. "And I'm hungry and now we have cold pancakes and no batter."

Santana leans in, palms gliding to slender hips and squeezing, lips pressing against Brittany's shoulder. "I've got to pop back to my apartment anyway, so how about I bring back something from the diner and we spend the rest of the day lying on the couch, watching crappy TV shows and making out like a couple of teens," she winks, lips grazing over creamy skin.

"Sounds good," Brittany murmurs, dropping whatever she's doing to turn in the embrace, resuming their earlier position. "But why do you need to go back to the apartment?"

"Clothes."

A pout forms on pink lips. "I don't want you to go."

"I don't _want _to go," Santana replies, fingers pinching the tight fabric at the small of Brittany's back. "But at some point we're gonna have to go out the house and I'd look a bit ridiculous in your clothes."

Blue eyes widen, whilst a pale hand slaps at Santana's arm playfully. "Rude!"

"No, no, no," she shakes her head, grinning widely, "I mean from the point of view that I'd have to hold my the bottom of my pants up because they're too long for me if we go out."

Brittany shrugs, eyes focusing on slender fingers hooking underneath the neckline of Santana's pyjama top and moving until she plays with the piece at the hollow of a tanned neck. "Who says we have to go out?" She looks up through thick lashes, "We could totally just stay in here and be naked. No need for clothes."

Santana lets out a throaty chuckle, burying her face into the crook of her girlfriends neck and nuzzling from side to side. Turning her head, she lets her lips brush over the creamy expanse of Brittany's neck until she gets to her jawline, where her teeth nip lightly and then sooth over with a quick sweep of her tongue. The blonde shivers underneath the kisses, moving the hand at Santana's neck to tangle in dark locks, urging their mouths together for a series of short, playful kisses.

"As much as-" Santana places a kiss to the tip of Brittany's nose "-I'd love too-" another to her left cheek "-I don't think-" another to her right cheek "-opening the door to a delivery guy-" to the edge of her jawline "-or any of our friends-" then to the other side "-stark naked would be appropriate," she finishes with a slow, soft kiss to Brittany's lips and then pulls away. "Even though it would be hilarious," she adds as an afterthought.

Brittany laughs, leans forward to press their lips together quickly one more time, before spinning away and heading for the other side of the kitchen to retrieve the mop out the closet.

"Don't be long though," Brittany says, throwing a look over her shoulder, but Santana narrows her eyes, unsure. "At your apartment," Brittany elaborates, "I'm hungry and I might miss you," winking, the blonde bends down to search through the lower half of the closet.

Santana shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "I shouldn't be," she bumps out her butt to push off the counter to walk towards Brittany, "As long as Sophie doesn't corner me," she jokes.

Brittany stills, hands pausing their search. "What?"

"I was joking," Santana slips her hands to her girlfriends hips.

Slowly, Brittany straightens up, the muscles in her neck visibly tightening as she clenches her jaw. "Sophie's going to be there?"

"Well, yeah." Santana replies, leaning her chin on the blonde's shoulder. "She is staying there. I told you, didn't I?"

"Yes." Brittany replies quickly. A little too fast, perhaps. "But I thought she might be out."

Santana lifts a hand, fingers moving blonde hair aside so she can press a soft to her girlfriend's neck. "I won't know until I get there," she dusts her lips across the skin quickly, feeling the way Brittany tenses under the gesture. "Are you worried?"

"No," Brittany reassures, trying to fake a smile. "I trust you."

Confused, Santana brings her head back, moving to lean against the frame of the closet and crossing her arms."Then why-"

"I just don't trust _her._"

And there it is.

"Britt," Santana starts, licking her lips because she's not entirely sure how to phrase her coming words. "You don't have to be worried. I'll stay away from her, and it's not like she'd try anything. She knows where she stands."

Brittany shrugs, fingers plucking at the hem of her top and eyes locked on the movement. "She knew where she stood when she kissed you and she still did it."

Santana reaches out, hand covering Brittany's and stilling the movement. Slowly, blue eyes lift to lock with brown. "I'm _yours. _Not hers._"_

Pink lips pinch up at the side, like they're concealing a smile. "You are mine," Brittany repeats, mouth curling further. "And I'll totally kick her ass if she even thinks about it."

Santana laughs, head tilting back a bit. "That would be _hot,_" she turns her palm up, sliding until her fingers thread through Brittany's. "You know you can come with me if you're that worried."

It's like Brittany's considering it. Her face twists slightly, eyes narrowing and flickering around the room aimlessly like she's trying to decide if that would be overprotective and inappropriate. "Nah," the blonde answers after a few seconds, "I'll stay here and clean up."

"Are you sure you don't want any help?"

Brittany smiles. "Nope. It's fine, just come back quickly, and text me if she tries anything."

"Sure baby," Santana laughs, tilting her head to the side and bending until her lips brush across Brittany's. "I'm gonna go get ready."

"Okay," Brittany leans in, kissing her again chastely.

Then Santana pulls away, reluctantly, and makes her way to the bedroom, trying to remember where the hell her clothes are and willing herself not to turn back and kiss Brittany again.

* * *

><p>Changing is pretty interesting considering she has to find her damn clothes. It actually gets so tiring, well, that and the combination of the mind-blowing sex she just had, that she throws herself back onto the mattress, head hitting the pillow and burying inside the mound of pillows. Her mind runs with ideas. She wonders what the next four weeks are going to be like, how she's going to feel when she has to move back to her empty apartment.<p>

She thinks about all the things she's going to miss when she goes back, like the intimacy of sleeping together at night, and actually sleeping. It's not something she's used too. All that intimacy. But now it's a new found hobby, or feeling, or whatever the hell it is, and she doesn't want it to go away.

Despite the flurry of thoughts, she feels her eyelids get heavy and sleep crawl at the back of her mind.

If she doesn't get up soon, she's going to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>"Seriously, I need to go."<p>

"I know."

Santana grins. "Then you kind of have to let me..." she gestures to their tangled fingers.

"I know."

She widens the smile, shaking her head and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Brittany's lips. "I'll be back soon," she says when they break apart, slipping from her girlfriend's grasp.

"Okay," Brittany answers, eyes bright and smile large. "Love you."

She twists the doorknob open, stepping over the threshold to face Brittany again and walk down the stoop backwards, making sure _not _to trip down the steps because every time those words are spoken it kind of takes her breath away. Concentration too. "Love you too."

Turning away, she manages to make it about four steps before glancing back and watching Brittany watch her as she heads further and further down the street. When she reaches the corner, she doesn't even care that there are people moving around her, cursing under their breath for the 'stupid bitch to move' – even if usually she'd probably spit something insulting back – and just mouths for Brittany to go back inside, hand waving insistently.

It takes about eight minutes, but eventually Brittany goes in, blowing her a kiss before disappearing inside. Santana moves quickly, knowing the chances of Brittany popping her head outside just to make sure Santana is gone is high, because she wants to wait and do exactly the same thing. Heading down the next road, she squints against the sun, finding it pretty strange considering the rain last night, but welcomes it anyway. It's a nice change. Not to mention there's birds chirping happily and it just feels like the weather's in sync with her feelings. Bright, happy, full of hope.

The things Brittany does to her, _honestly._

Turning into the road of her apartment, she begins to think about the future. Her record label's going well. Quinn's debut single, _Always Attract _is set to release in a few weeks and Brittany is finally hers. Everything's clicking into place, and right now, she's on top of the fucking world. Not to mention she just cut the journey by like ten minutes and now she's here... What did she do? Speed walk?

_Weird._

Shoving her hand into her pockets, she fingers the edge of a cigarette packet and brings it out. Which is weird because she doesn't remember carrying any cigarettes around with her... But anyway, she doesn't even need these anymore. Brittany's her relief now. No need for alcohol, tobacco or anything unhealthy to take away her negative feelings. There aren't even any.

_Damn, _it feels good.

When she gets to her building, only about ten seconds later, she tosses the cigarette packet into a nearby trash can and walks up to her apartment. She really hope Sophie isn't in. The combination of the initial awkward greeting and then walking out with a suitcase full of her stuff, to say _I'm going to stay with my new girlfriend, Brittany. The one you've always been jealous of _doesn't exactly shout appealing. Pushing the hopes aside, she slides her key into the lock and opens the door.

"Sophie?" She calls, because walking in on her ex-wife and Puckerman fucking just... No. "Anyone in?"

She doesn't say home. Because this doesn't feel like home. Despite her name being on the lease.

And because God seems to be on her side, no-one answers and she lets out a long exhale she didn't know she was holding. Retracting her key, she kicks the door shut and walks through the apartment. It's pretty much the same as she last saw it. Except there's empty Chinese takeaway cartons on the coffee table and a variety of magazines spread out next to it, open to those question pages where you ask someone them and get an answer in next weeks copy. Rolling her eyes, she heads through the living room and towards the bedroom, spinning her keys in her hand and looping it over and over.

"_Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows everywhere," _she hums to herself, feet padding along the hallway towards the bedroom. _"Everything that's wonderful is what I feel when, we're togeth-" _

Opening the door, she stops dead in her tracks, mouth snapping shut and keys pausing in her hand.

Because Sophie's sitting on the bed, cross legged with around seven or eight items spread across the bed spread in front of her. Her eyes are locked onto them, red, puffy and frightened. Her skin is paler than usual, and she's dressed in sweats and a baggy sweatshirt. Something Sophie wouldn't be caught dead in. Something that Santana's only ever seen her in like three times. Appearance was always a big deal for Sophie. So instantly Santana knows something's wrong.

"Sophie?"

Sophie slowly lifts her head, her usually bright emerald eyes, dark. "Santana..." she sobs, "I-I..."

Narrowing her eyes, Santana tilts her head and moves forward, eyes trained on the items. The closer she gets, the louder her heart beats and the drier her mouth runs. Somehow, she can't even bring herself to think of a possibility, she knows that the world must be playing a cruel trick on her or her eyes are deceiving her or something. There's no way she can be seeing what she's seeing.

But as soon as her shins hit the foot board, the room around her starts spinning violently and it's like the world is laughing at her because _yeah, _she _is _seeing what she thinks. The world could possibly be playing a cruel trick n her, but it's still real. Trick or not.

"Are those..." she lifts her hand, barely pointing to the items on the bed.

Sophie bites her quivering bottom lip, eyes tearing up. "Y-Yeah."

"Puck?" She manages to force out, swallowing against a thickened throat and trying to think of a way to escape the fate she knows is sealed. It's a possibility. But the sinking feeling in her gut tells her that's all it is. "Is it..."

But all her nightmares are confirmed when Sophie begins to whimper, hands coming up to her face to rub at her eyes whilst she shakes her head. "N-no... We n-never..."

She doesn't even think about calling her bullshit. What the hell is happening to her? Usually she'd be all over this shit. Yelling and screaming because she knows her ex-wife, and she knows Puckerman. And there is no way in _hell _Sophie and Puck didn't get it on. That's like saying a moth didn't fly towards a flame when it was there.

"Are they..." she leaves the words again, not having the ability to finish them.

Sophie winces, head ducking. "Y-Yeah."

Thousands of things run through Santana's mind in this instant.

The past.

_Brittany._

Babies.

_Brittany._

Contraception.

_Brittany._

The pregnancy tests lying on the comforter.

_Brittany._

Sophie's eyes boring into her.

_Brittany._

The future.

_Brittany._

Of all the things that are running through her mind, she just keeps going back to Brittany and wondering what the hell is going to happen now.

Only moments ago, she was on cloud nine, jumping and feeling free because nothing was standing in her away. Moments ago, she was grinning, and bubbling with excitement because she had the most wonderful woman waiting for her at home – and nothing was standing in her way. Moments ago, she was happy. And now it's like her entire world is crumbling around her.

She can't quite believe this is happening.

Breath growing short, Santana feels her knees weaken and instinctively sinks down to sit on the bed in opposed to crumbling to the floor. "Is it..." the words die in her throat as her eyes stare at nothing, mind blanking but racing at the same time. "Mine?"

Once again, Sophie repeats, "Y-yeah," then sobs loudly and brings her legs up to her chest.

The room is kind of blurry, her mind is kind of fuzzy and it feels like her heart's about to jump right out her chest. It's like everything's kind of surreal... Like she's in a nightmare that in a second she'll wake up, clutching to Brittany for deal life and sweating bullets. She'd never thought about these things. It was always one of those fears that she pushed away to the back of her mind, because she didn't want to think about them. Stupid. Irresponsible. Something she really _should _have thought about.

But she didn't.

So the only words that she manages to muster, to break the tension and silence filling the room, are two words that are like the final signature on an unbreakable contract. Two words which make the situation come to life.

And two words, which will ultimately change her life, Sophie's life and Brittany's life from now on.

"You're pregnant."

She then jolts backwards and her eyes snap open.


	23. chapter twenty three

**Re-upload! Dream explained in the first part. Sorry it's not a new chapter, but I had to make some minor alterations!**

**Big thanks to _shellv5_ and _dghterjudy _on tumblr! You guys are awesome and have helped with this update a lot! Thank you!**

_**Warning: Filler chapter.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Title: <strong>If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Twenty Three]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>7.1k

* * *

><p>You know that feeling where you're half asleep, and it feels like you're falling, so you jerk and jolt and scare the crap out of yourself because you're trying to find some grounding. Yeah? Well that's exactly what Santana does. Except for her, when she flinches, body stiffening as her fists clench and slam to the mattress either side of her, she actually <em>does <em>fall.

Straight out of bed. On to the floor. With a crash.

"Fuck," she winces, groggily opening her eyes and wondering what the hell is happening. A sharp stabbing pain surges up her right arm, starting from her pinky, down the right side of her hand and up her wrist. Groaning, and in complete shock from the fall, she sits up, ignoring the throbbing ache in her ass and clings to her hand for dear life because _shit, _she's pretty sure she just broke something.

Fast, graceful footsteps echo through the room, and two seconds later, Brittany appears around the door, face flushed and eyes wide with fear. "San? What's wrong?" she asks breathlessly, sprinting to Santana's side with her hands out. As soon as she gets there, she drops to her knees, palms lingering in front of the clutched hand, worry and uncertainty etched across her face because she's not entirely sure what to do. "Baby, what happened?"

Santana lets out a throaty laugh. There's nothing actually remotely amusing. But with the combination of the racing heart from what she can only think is a nightmare, as well as falling out the damn bed because of it, that's her only bodily response. Apart from whimpering over the pain in her hand.

"I fell out of bed," she says, shrugging.

Brittany frowns, eyes darting between the injured hand and brown eyes. "I can see that," she replies, moving into a crouch and slowly lifting Santana by the forearms. "Bad dream?"

Santana nods frantically, feeling her facial muscles ache from where she can only think her face was scrunched in the midst of her dream. Remembering it, her mouth runs dry again and panicked, she searches for her phone, only stretching her neck because she's currently in the middle of getting up. "Yeah. When the hell did I fall asleep? And where's my phone?"

"On the side table," Brittany narrows her eyes, threading their fingers together on one hand. The one not propped up against Santana's chest. "And you fell asleep when you came to get changed. I didn't want to wake you," her eyes narrow further. "What's wrong?"

Santana takes in a deep breath, lowering her gaze to focus on the slither of skin showing between her girlfriend's shorts and shirt. It's just calling to be touched, so she brings their intertwined fingers and straightens out her finger, stroking the skin softly as she replies.

"I need to call someone," she breathes, trying to calm herself down because it was _just _a dream. Apparently she didn't get up when she thought and now she's kind of freaking out. "I had a bad dream." That's an understatement, it was a fucking nightmare, but she doesn't want to scare Brittany.

"Is that why you're crying?"

She shakes her head in a _what the fuck_ motion and then feels Brittany's thumb brush across her cheek. She didn't even know she was friggin' crying and now she doesn't quite know what to do. Glancing up, blue eyes gaze into her, trying to decipher things she can't say.

"Sorry," she licks her lips, "I just..." another exhale. "It was so _real _and I-I..."

Freely, the tears fall, and Brittany snakes her free arm around Santana's neck, pulling their bodies together but arching her chest backwards so when they embrace, Santana's injured hand doesn't have any pressure placed on it.

"Baby, it was just a dream," Brittany coos, thumb brushing over the back of tanned knuckles. "It's fine."

Santana sucks in a shaky breath. "B-but," she gulps. _Jesus, _why the hell is she crying? "I-I..."

"Ssssh," Brittany presses soft kisses to the crown of her head. "You don't have to say."

Needing more contact, Santana shuffles closer and wraps one arm around her girlfriend's waist, bringing their bodies even closer. However the sharp stab shoots through her hand again and she feels her body tense and eyes squint at the pain. _Fuck, _all she wants to do is hug her damn girlfriend and now she's sobbing at the pain and a bad dream? What the hell?

"I think you need to go to the ER," Brittany suggests, pulling back and running her fingers down a tanned neck, over the dip in Santana's collarbone and then incredibly gently up the indent of Santana's wrist – careful not to harm her any further. Despite pure concentration, it's pretty hard _not _to wince at the throbbing sensation that hurts even when the feather-soft touch of slender fingers is applied to it.

"Nah," Santana shakes her head, clearing her throat. "Ice is good."

"ER."

"Ice."

"Santana..." Brittany warns, face etching with disapproval. Even the use of Santana's full name lets her know she's in shit, and Brittany won't let her down until she does what she's told. "I'm a dancer. We suffer injuries all the time. You need to go to ER."

"Okay, okay," she lifts their clasped hands defensively, "I'll go."

Sometimes she does wonder when she got so damn whipped.

"_We _will go," Brittany corrects, grinning and leaning in to place a quick kiss to her lips. "I'll call work and say I can't be in for a few hours."

"Bu-" she opens her mouth, but snaps it shut when Brittany arches a brow. There's not really any point in arguing. Brittany will get her way eventually, even if it's with one of those irresistible pouts that she does whenever she doesn't get her way.

"Good," Brittany smiles triumphantly. "Now get ready," the blonde 'boops' her nose then spins away. "We're not going in PJ's."

Santana just rolls her eyes, ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest from the aftermath of her nightmare.

* * *

><p>"Miss Lopez?"<p>

Santana looks up, holding her throbbing hand, covered in a kitchen towel and four cubes of probably-melted ice, up towards the nurse dressed in pale pink scrubs.

"That's me," she replies, smiling weakly and glancing to her right, where Brittany's stopped flicking through _Dancers Weekly _to watch the conversation.

They've been waiting in ER for about half an hour, which is pretty quick considering there's a guy in the corner who's been turning paler and paler with every second that passed. But hey, she's not going to argue. Hospital prioritises patients and she _is _in a lot of pain. Even if that guy just slumped a little further into her chair.

"Come on, San." Brittany threads their fingers together and pulls Santana off the chair, following the nurse.

She follows, weaving around wheel chaired patients and dodging frantic looking doctor's who seriously look like they need a nice meal, a big ass cup of coffee and something horizontal,. Wouldn't even have to be relatively comfy, just flat enough so they could shut their eyes for about three or four minutes.

Despite her Abuelo being a doctor, way back when God was a boy, she doesn't know what would possess a person to delve into the medical career. Sure, helping people would have some type of uplifting feeling, but to be honest, the majority of people that give doctor's shit and that amount of people that die completely outweighs that feeling.

_Fuck that _for a packet of chips.

"If you take a seat then Doctor Holliday will be with you right away," the nurse says dismissively, motioning towards the small, green bed in the ward and shutting the curtain behind them.

Santana hops onto the bed, tucking one leg underneath her and the other dangling off the edge, whilst Brittany sinks into the chair next to her, worry still present in her features. Instinctively, Santana reaches out with her good hand, running her finger along the hinge of Brittany's jaw and down until she can cradle her chin, twisting until their eyes lock.

"Baby, it's fine," she reassures, "It's probably just a bruise."

Brittany frowns, eyes shading with concern. She reaches up, tangling their fingers together and bringing it to her lap where she traces the lines on Santana's palm with a finger. "Doesn't mean I'm not worried."

"Well you have no reason to be," Santana pinches her lips up at the side into a small smile. Brittany runs her tongue along her teeth, but still seems concerned by the whole thing. It's probably only a bruise. Okay, maybe not. But still. "It was just a nightmare gone wrong," she shrugs.

Brittany worries her teeth between her teeth but then looks up through her lashes. "What was it about, anyway?"

_Shit. _Sucking in a deep breath, Santana feels her heart beat quicken and focuses on the contrast between caramel and cream skin, intertwined. "Britt," she starts, swallowing heavily. "I need to ask you something."

Brittany stills, tilting her head. "Okay..."

Shuffling towards the edge of the bed, because really? This isn't exactly a conversation the seven year old lying in the bed next to them needs to hear. (Seriously, isn't there like a paediatrics ward or something?)

"You know the first time we..." she lowers her head and voice, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah," Brittany smiles a little, eyes twinkling with the memory.

Santana clears her throat, moving closer until her legs are fully dangling off the edge and Brittany's practically sitting between them, just on a slightly lower level.

"We didn't use a-" she glances around towards the curtains, knowing no-ones actually there, but checking just in case. "We didn't use a condom," she whispers shyly.

Brittany nods slowly, apparently oblivious to the effects of lacking protection. "Yeah..."

Santana pulls back, brows furrowing in confusion. It shouldn't, but it's kind of setting her teeth on edge. Maybe it's just the left-over frustration and panic from the dream, but it still annoys her that Brittany's being pretty cavalier about something so fucking important. Her eyes bore into blue, trying to silently convey the words she can't say – or won't say because she doesn't want to have a seven year old asking his mom what _coming inside a girl _leads too.

"But I..." she almost says those very words, and pasting a graphic image into her head, but instead she replaces them with something a little more appropriate for their setting. "Didn't pull out."

It's pretty ridiculous. She's been having sex for like, nearly a decade, and she's talked to Brittany god knows how many times about her many sex-capades, but saying this is really quite embarrassing. She can feel the heat crawling across her cheeks, tinging her skin and the tips of her ears and if it weren't for her complexion, she'd probably be tomato red.

"I was pregnant in your _nightmare?_" Brittany says quietly, brows up by her hairline and eyes wide.

Realising where that connection could've been made, Santana shakes her head rapidly, feeling the muscles reject the movement and the bones in her neck click every other twist. Panic flows through her and she can see the hurt and rejection flash across blue eyes.

"No, Britt," she grabs Brittany's hand with both of hers, ignoring the way her right hand rejects the pressure. "I didn't dream _you _were pregnant."

Back in high school, so many people said that Brittany wasn't the _sharpest tool in the toolbox _or the _bright colour in the crayon pack –_ but they really knew fuck all. Sure, she may not have been the A grade student with a 4.0 GPA, but she's perceptive, she can read people and notice little things that others don't. She can pick out the smallest of things and read them.

Mostly, Santana thinks that Brittany can just read _her _very well, like a friggin' book, but that's not true. _Yes, _she can read Santana better than anyone has ever been able to read her. It's like Santana's an open book, with one of those big ass fonts for partially sighted people, but it's more than that.

Brittany's smart. Like _really _smart.

So that's probably why Santana questions her words when Brittany's face contorts with utter horror and hurt.

Snapping her hand away, Brittany's eyes squint, blue eyes darkening with hurt and mouth quivering slightly. "You got someone else pregnant?" she asks, sucking in her shaking lips and seeming small, hurt and vulnerable.

Santana instantly sinks to the floor, sitting back on her calves and staring up at her girlfriend with sincere, brown eyes. She licks her lips, shaking her head and then speaks. "No, Britt, baby, it was a nightmare. I went home to get clothes and found Sophie with pregnancy tests." The words practically spill out her mouth in one sentence. "It was just a bad dream though," she reassures, panicked. "It was a nightmare. I didn't want it. I promise, Britt."

Slowly, Brittany breathes out, facial features softening and she smiles down at Santana. "You scared the crap out of me," she says, rolling her eyes. "I thought you were about to break up with me for a girl you knocked up."

"What?" Santana lets out a disbelieving laugh. "Who the hell would I have knocked up?" She jokes, but the name of her ex wife pops into her mind and her laughter dies.

Blue eyes narrow. Apparently her mind wasn't the only one which produced _that _name. "That's not funny."

It's not. Because the nightmare was actually about knocking Sophie up. Which now she's making a joke out of.

"No," Santana shakes her head, looking down to their intertwined hands and suddenly remembering her probably broken hand. "It's not," she looks up. "I'm sorry, Britt. I just panicked. I didn't want to have babies with someone else and the dream freaked the crap outta me because of that."

Brittany's eyes soften, eyes turning from a cerulean to a baby blue as they dart between each dark brown orb. Her head tilts slightly, blonde hair falling over half her face as each side of her lips curl up at the side into small yet incredibly beautiful smile.

"What?" Santana asks through a smile, one probably mirroring Brittany's.

Her heart skips a beat when she thinks of what they do to each other emotionally. Judging by the look on Brittany's face though, she's definitely done something right, because Brittany's shaking her head, grinning widely and then ducking her chin to her chest. The corners of mouth tug up until they're stretching across her face, and her eyes sparkle brighter than recently polished Sapphires.

There's nothing better than being looked at like this by the person she loves.

"Who do you want to have babies with then?" Brittany asks, despite knowing the answer because it's practically causing her to glow.

Santana blinks once, twice, raising an eyebrow whilst a slow smirk creeps across her face. Her heart's fluttering like a butterfly inside of her chest, and it's like she could implode with the amount of love she feels for the woman in front of her. There's barely any room for her to contain herself, and she knows she'll probably die from feeling this way about Brittany. But in a good way.

"I want to have babies with you, Brittany Pierce." She grins, eyes locked with blue. "One dark haired, blue eyed girl called Jenny, and a blonde haired, brown eyed boy called Alfie."

The look on Brittany's face is so adoring that it just makes her want to continue. So she does.

"Alfie will be three years older, so Jenny has an older brother to protect her. We'll live in the Suburbs, with a white fence, a chocolate Labrador, two cats and a hamster for Jenny because like her mother," she winks, "she likes pets and cute, fluffy animals."

Brittany sighs, practically exhaling love as Santana shuffles closer on her knees, twiddling the fingers on her good hand with Brittany's because even though she doesn't want to ruin this moment, she's actually in quite a lot of pain. Brittany's worth it though. She always is.

"You've thought about this stuff?" Brittany asks, shyly, looking down at Santana with an expression that makes her heart melt.

Santana smiles sappily. "I have."

She thought that having that dream was awful, was terrible and frankly it scared the crap of out her. But right now, staring so deeply into Brittany's eyes that she can practically see her girlfriend's soul swimming in a blue ocean, she's kind of glad she actually had it.

It's given her the chance to bring up something she wasn't entirely sure how too. It's given her the opportunity to tell Brittany that she's in this for the long run. That she's in this forever, for as long as she may live, and further if that were possible. Brittany's always going to be the one, and will only _ever _be the one to claim Santana's heart.

The thought of marriage and babies doesn't freak her out anymore. Sure, it went wrong the first time, but that was different. _This _is different. This relationship between her and Brittany, because they're different. Brittany's different. Brittany's always been there, and for the first time in her life, Santana's finally found something in her life she's actually one hundred percent certain about.

Almost mesmerised by the way Brittany's looking at her, she feels her body spike with emotions, sending her blood racing and pulse thumping and leans up, stretching her neck to press her lips to awaiting pink ones.

But, _of course,_ their trance is broken when the curtain swings open and then there's a tall blonde, standing in a white doctor's jacket and a grin the size of China, eyes darting between the two knowingly.

"Well hello there, girlies." The woman winks, no trace of awkwardness from interrupting their intimate moment at all. "I'm Doctor Holliday. But you can call me Holly." She taps her clipboard, before waving her pen in the direction of Santana's injured arm. "What do we have here?"

Santana clears her throat, bringing herself to her feet to sit back on the bed. "Fell off a bed," she grumbles, slightly pissed that she didn't even kiss Brittany to finish their moment.

Holly straightens up, tucking her clipboard underneath her arm. "Oh, really?" She says suggestively, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Santana responds almost immediately, embarrassed. "Not that," she giggles awkwardly, looking down.

Brittany smirks. "That would've been worth it though," she winks, surprising Santana.

"Britt!"

Holly shrugs. "Girl says the truth."

Blushing furiously, Santana shuffles when Holly comes over, pulling on a pair of bright blue elastic gloves and motioning for her hand. Santana lifts it, wincing when a delicate touch undoes the kitchen cloths and puts them on the bed covers next to her. A gasp comes from Brittany, but she just squeezes her eyes shut because seeing a wound always makes it like ten times worse, and ten times more painful.

A quick check over, and the examination is done. Holly nods, tapping Santana's thigh signalling she can open her eyes and then snaps off her gloves with a satisfying thwack. However when she opens her eyes, she catches a glimpse of the purple, green, blue bruise covering the entire right side of her right hand and it makes something gurgle in the pit of her stomach.

"Well, we'll have to take an x-ray to confirm it," Holly says, picking up her clipboard from the end of the bed. "But I think you've got a hairline fracture in your fifth metatarsal."

Blinking, Santana nods. "And that means..."

"You've broken your hand." Brittany translates, picking up Santana's hand, tangling their fingers and brushing a few kisses to the bruised area.

_Psht, _and people said Santana was the dumb one.

Holly smiles at them. "I'll schedule an x-ray and then we'll get the nurse to come in and put a cast on. You'll have to keep it on for six to eight weeks, but come back in five and we'll see how you're doing."

Santana and Brittany both nod together, thumbs brushing over knuckles as Holly backs away towards the curtain with that _you-two-are-so-cute _expression which kind of makes Santana cringe, but at the same time makes her heart flutter because they don't even have to be looking at each other for people to know how in love they are.

It does kind of make her wonder if anyone saw it before.

"Thank you, Dr. Holliday." Brittany chirps up, cradling the hand between her own with intense care.

And when Holly leaves, Santana practically leaps off the bed presses her good hand to one of the arms of the chair to stable herself as she leans down, capturing Brittany's lips with her own and kissing deeply, softly, slowly... All the things that when she pulls away, makes her head spin and heart fly.

"I was on the pill," Brittany murmurs as her blue eyes clear from their dazed state. "The first time."

Santana takes a second to remember what the hell they were talking about, because, well, that kiss, basically just wiped her memory clean and she's having a pretty hard time keeping her knees from buckling.

"Oh, good, okay," she replies, licking her lips and moaning lightly at the remains of Brittany on them, eyes closing at the sweet yet tangy taste of her girlfriend's lip gloss. "Not good," she corrects, head shaking. "But good. You know what I mean." She grins, eyes still shut.

A hand comes up to cup her cheek causing her eyes to flutter open, and Brittany whispers, "I know what you mean," before pressing their lips together quickly. "But some day," she adds, eyes sparkling with hope.

And even though Brittany doesn't actually say 'some day we'll have children'Santana still hears it. She nods shyly, biting her bottom lip and grinning so wide, for a second she's scared her face might _actually _tear apart because the mere image of small Brittana kids running about, grinning widely, scowling at kids that try to grab their swing and being awesomely fascinated with ducks and other fluffy animals kind of makes her head spin...

But in the awesome, _oh-my-God-I've-found-the-one-and-we're-gonna-have-kids _kind of way.

"Some day, baby." Santana mumbles, leaning in and ghosting her lips over Brittany's. "Some day."

* * *

><p>One X-Ray, a cast and three hours later, they finally get the clear to leave the hospital. Brittany tangles their fingers together, and Santana is actually grateful that she didn't break her left hand, because that would be shit. Not that breaking her hand isn't shit, that still sucks too, but at least it's not her writing hand.<p>

"Do you wanna stop by your apartment?" Brittany asks as they head down the street towards the subway.

Santana worries her bottom lip between her teeth. Sure, now she knows the dream meant nothing, but it doesn't stop her from thinking what would actually happen if she walked in and the dream turned into reality. Stupid, she knows. Brittany's with her this time and it was _just a nightmare. _End of.

"Sure," Santana inhales deeply, squeezing her girlfriend's hand before tugging them down the steps and into the dimly lit entrance hall of the subway. "Is that okay?"

Brittany turns her head, brows furrowing quickly. "Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"Sophie might be there," Santana shrugs. "I don't want you to feel like you're unwelcome."

Despite Santana's worries, Brittany just grins and shakes her head. "I was there _years _before she was," the blonde explains, pulling them to a halt when they reach their platform. "If anything, she should feel unwelcome. You're mine now and she should know that."

Brown eyes narrow playfully as Santana twists her body, her arm – the one wrapped up in a bright white cast - snaking carefully around Brittany's waist whilst the other comes up, hand stroking at her girlfriend's jaw and thumb brushing underneath a pink lip.

"You're adorable," she nuzzles their noses together in an Eskimo kiss. "Being all protective and jealous over me."

"You're worth being protective and jealous over," Brittany shrugs, her voice making it sound like it's common knowledge.

Train pulling up, they part, Santana smiling and leaning in to press their lips together quickly before entering the train and taking one of the side seats. Sitting next to her, she throws her arm around her girlfriend's shoulder and Brittany leans in, hand finding hers and fingers threading together to rest on her thigh.

Before she can even reply to Brittany, probably along the lines of _I love you _or _I can't believe how lucky I am to have you, _or something to a similar cringe-factor, a tall, bulky guy, with a body like Shrek and a head like Hagrid, walks in, smirking at them when his eyes land on their half of the train, and then proceeds to sit directly opposite them.

It's only now that she kind of wishes Brittany put on something more than tight black leggings, a low cut white tank top and a beige coat, because whilst _yeah, _she looks smoking hot, it enters Santana's mind that she's not the only that has eyes.

Shuffling closer, she lifts her injured hand, resting it protectively (and gently) over Brittany's crossed leg and presses soft kiss to blonde hair. It's such an obvious move that a dog pissing on a water pipe to mark his territory would be more subtle.

Except Brittany seems oblivious to the leering pervert practically drooling over her and tilts her chin up, breath hitting Santana's clenching jaw as she asks,"What's wrong?"

Unfortunately, despite the sheer innocence of the movement, it just happens to jostle open Brittany's beige coat, revealing a little more cleavage and the guy opposite _actually _drools. Like full on, drop of saliva dripping out the side of his mouth and trailing down to his chin.

It's so fucking disgusting and infuriating that Santana mouths 'one sec' to her girlfriend and then then stands, moving swiftly towards the man and grasping the pole as she stands in front of him.

"Yo, troll, up here." She clicks the fingers of her good hand, snapping him out of his disgusted gaze. "I've just come from ER," she gestures to her cast covered arm, "Because about half an hour ago I kicked the crap out of a guy on the subway, who just happened to leer at my girlfriend the _exact same way. _And if you think this is bad, go down to ER and ask for David Leerton-" she doesn't even have a clue if that's a real person "-in the ICU and check up on him."

Slowly, the guys eyes widen, but they keep flicking behind her towards Brittany and it only riles Santana up more.

"So this is how it's gon' be," she crouches down in front of him, eyes threatening to tear him apart. "If you don't take your eyes off my girl, and roll your plumpy ass off this train at the next stop, I'll be sure to fuck up everyone's train schedules by pushing your fat ass in front of the next train," she taps his thigh, scrunching up her face with a sarcastic squint and stands. "Kay pork chop?"

He nods, and the doors open two seconds later as the train pulls up at the next stop, him half-tripping out the doorway as his foot catches in the gap. Turning around, with a smirk, Santana finds blue eyes staring with her with a gleam of disapproval flashing behind them. Instantly, her laughter drops and she takes her seat again, but keeps her head held high because she doesn't regret threatening him.

Stupid ass should have kept his eyes in his head.

"Why'd you do that?" Brittany asks after a long moment, filled with the sound of the train creaking and curling around the tracks.

Santana shrugs, but kicks her feet out and throws an arm around her girlfriend's shoulder. "Do what?"

"Threaten that guy."

"He was practically dribbling over you," Santana answers, tilting her head down to look at Brittany who leans against her. "No, scratch that, he _actually _dribbled over you."

Slender fingers reach for her jacket, fiddling with the zip and pulling it up and down, whilst Brittany focuses on the movement and moves her shoulders a bit. "You didn't have too," she says, lowly. "Do that I mean. I deal with people like that everyday at the studio when I'm teaching."

This information practically sparks up the fire behind brown eyes and causes comical steam to blow out her ears. "What?"

"It's nothing, Mike usua-" Brittany's voice trails off, finger pausing on their zipping movement.

Noting the awkwardness lingering in the air, Santana clears her throat and sits up, a sudden zing of jealousy pouring through her veins. Brittany shifts with the movement, straightening up but still cuddling tightly into Santana's side, right arm tucked between their ribs and her left on her girlfriend's stomach.

"San, I'm so-"

"It's fine," Santana says a little sharper than intended. She's not actually pissed, she just doesn't really like to hear about Chicken Lo Mein and how he came to the rescue in all his Prawn Cracker glory whenever they'd leer over his _girlfriend _back then. Knight in fucking shining Duck Sauce coloured armour.

_Damn it, _she seriously needs to work on her insults.

"Santana..." Brittany juts out her lower lip slightly, eyes apologetic. "I'm sorry."

That friggin' pout gets her every time. It's almost as bad as Brittany's puppy eyes. No, scratch that. It _is _worse than Brittany's puppy eyes. Oh God, she'd probably implode if Brittany every combined the both of them. She'd be like... Even more whipped than she already is. Is that even possible?

"Britt Britt, it's fine." Santana says a little lighter than before. Her cast covered hand comes up, fingers stroking at a creamy cheek to reassure her girlfriend even more. "He was a part of your life."

"I'm sorry." Brittany apologizes again, pinching her lips up at the side as she looks up at Santana.

Santana leans down, brushing her lips against a pale forehead lightly. "There's no need to be."

The train pulls up as Brittany lets out a long exhale and glides her hand across Santana's stomach, towards her hand and tangles their fingers together. Standing, they both move towards the door and head through the subway and up towards the street. It's a strange kind of weather. Because despite it appearing sunny and warm, there's a definite chill in the air and she kind of wishes she were at Brittany's, on the couch, spooning her girlfriend and watching replays of Desperate Housewives or some crappy movie that fifteen minutes into, they'd forget about as they started trading slow, languid kisses.

Clutching onto Brittany's hand with her good one, they turn down the street, her building coming into view. Something churns inside her stomach and she feels her heart beat a little quicker than before. Brittany and Sophie haven't been in the same building with each other in like... Months. And now they'll be in the same damn room.

Yeah, they were on the same street a couple of days ago, but Brittany was at least fifty yards away - so it doesn't really count.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asks as they arrive at the stoop of her apartment building.

Santana squeezes her girlfriends hand and sucks in a deep breath. "I'm good. Let's just get this over and done with."

Nodding, Brittany ushers Santana forward and they head through the foyer, nodding at the door man and towards the stairs. Once they reach her level, the stench of Sophie's perfume hits them both and Brittany's nose visibly wrinkles. Santana's pretty used to it, or she was, so the overpowering floral scent (that personally she thinks makes Sophie smell like a baby prostitute – _thank you Mean Girls for that one_) is like encoded into her scent memory of whatever the hell it is that stores smells.

Not wanting to prolong Brittany's obvious distaste towards this visit, she doesn't hesitate as she slips the key into the lock and opens the door. If she thought the smell before was bad... This is like... _Whoah._

Brittany tugs on her hand as she lifts her leg to cross over the threshold. Turning, Santana narrows her eyes and cocks a brow. "Britt?"

"I think I'm gonna-" Brittany pauses, eyes flickering towards the apartment and back. "I'm gonna wait out in the hallway."

Santana eyes her girlfriend quizzically for a few seconds, but then nods and brings Brittany's knuckles up to brush a kiss across them before saying, "I'll be out in ten," and heading into the apartment.

* * *

><p>It's exactly eleven minutes later by the time Santana makes it out the bedroom, armed with a duffel bag full of clothes and random objects that she doesn't want Sophie or Puckerman to get their hands on. She hooks the strap over her left shoulder, thumb sliding underneath it and heads through the apartment. As far as she knows, Sophie's not here, and if she is, then she's either <em>really <em>good at hiding or really good at staying quiet.

Heading into the living room, scanning for a few of her DVD's, she cocks her head to the side when she sees something on the coffee table. Sparing a quick glance towards the door, she shrugs off the bag, it landing on the floor with a soft thud and heads over here.

Sitting on the flat surface, is a Valentines card. One she doesn't recognise.

She has to admit, now she's thinking about it, she wonders how oblivious she was to Sophie and Puck. Obviously they'd had a thing going for a while, and not that she's one to comment considering her and Brittany, but she does wonder whether Sophie even felt bad about cheating. It's not like she ever _really _apologised, or said that she regretted it. Well, then again, clearly she doesn't regret it seeing as she's dating the guy now.

Santana still not one to talk.

She bend slightly, flexing her fingers and wincing at the throb that goes up her arm when she picks up the card. Flicking it open, she squints her eyes and attempts to read the stupidly small, squiggly writing and manages to make out a cheesy line and then Puck's signature down the bottom.

It probably shouldn't have this effect on her, because there should be some type of remorse or something lingering in her body – but all this card does is makes her think of the things her and Brittany missed. Like her birthday, Valentines Day and a _proper _Christmas with the whole present thing considering they never actually got around to that.

(She mentally notes to grab the still-wrapped present from the back of the closet before she leaves.)

There was so much wasted time, not being together and pretending that the inevitable thing between them wasn't there. So many hours pining over each other, whilst faking the smiles and aiming them at the people they were supposedly in love with. There was so many wasted opportunities and situations where they could've just caved, given in and indulged in each other's love, but they didn't.

She always knew there was an interest with Brittany, but she never actually delved into those feelings of interest because she was scared. It does come across that maybe, it seems it was mere physical attraction that brought her towards Brittany when the blonde came back after that year and a half break – but really, she knows it's not that.

Now that she knows exactly how she feels, she can actually say that all her life, she's been in love with Brittany. Even if for the majority of her life, she didn't know it. She thought maybe that's how best friends were - with all those intimate touches and lingering glances - but considering her only other best friend was Puck, she couldn't exactly measure up the difference. All of those touches, really, were just signs and subtle hints that they were meant to be together.

It was like the universe was yelling at them whilst she had headphones in. Everything was there, and pretty damn clear, but she could never quite figure it out.

Staring at this stupid Valentines Card – that isn't even hers - she thinks back to all those years where she and Brittany would spend Valentines Day snuggled up in each other's arms, watching horror movies and doing their best _not _to think about how alone they were. And it was so damn easy to do that because despite their Facebook relationship status, neither of them were _actually _alone.

They always had each other. Even the years when they both had boyfriends and girlfriends, they conveniently split up with their other half's before Valentines Day and spent it together.

Another sign that should have pointed them towards each other.

An idea pops into her head as she puts down the card. She's going to make up, somehow, the days that they missed together in these four weeks she has living with Brittany. Brittany deserves this.

Well, actually, she deserves a lot more, but this is a start.

* * *

><p>Santana finds Brittany perched on the window ledge, leg dangling off whilst the other's planted on the surface, bent up with her elbow leaning on the side. She smiles as she walks over, feeling her heart flip and react in the way it always does when she sees Brittany, and it just reminds her of how hopelessly in love with the woman she is.<p>

"Ready to go?" She asks, offering out her good hand.

Brittany grins, eyes filled with adoration as they meet Santana's. "Only if you are," she replies, taking the hand and gracefully sliding off the ledge, tangling their fingers together when her feet reach the floor.

Santana nods, grinning like an idiot because that's just the effect her girlfriend has on her.

"Let's go home then," Brittany bumps their shoulders together as they head towards the elevator and press the button.

_Home. _Whoever knew one single world could make Santana feel like someone just offered her the world? She ducks her head, tugging her lip between her teeth and trying not to focus on the overwhelming urge declare her love from the rooftops because she can barely contain herself.

"Yeah, Britt," Santana breathes, eyes lingering over the curve of Brittany's cheekbone as the corners of her mouth tug up. "Let's go home."

Home _really is _where the heart is.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading if you still are!<strong>

**(Oh and I've just realised this fic's now got 1k reviews. Wow and thank you.)**


	24. chapter twenty four

**I've re-uploaded the last two chapters, you may have read them, maybe not. Either way, I would recommend just reading over them quickly because even though there's minor alterations, it makes the story flow smoother and makes more sense now.**

**Thank you for your reviews anyway, it's lovely hearing from you guys – however I am probably going to wrap up this fic before the thirty chapter mark, or _on_ that mark, and so I hope you will watch out for my newest fic when it comes out.**

**And to anyone who's stuck with me the entire way through - so much love for you.**

**Big thanks to _shellv5 _and_ bluecrushx _who helped me with this chapter!**

**Thank you! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>T<strong>**itle: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Twenty Four]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>8.1k

* * *

><p>By the time they get back to Brittany's apartment, it's starting to turn dark. Their plans of spending the entire day on the sofa, snuggled up and (not) watching crappy movies has shot out the window, replaced by a trip to ER and her old apartment. At least she got the benefit of conjuring up the idea to recreate Valentines Day. That'll get her some brownie points, if not more.<p>

Entering Brittany's apartment, Santana drops her duffel bag by the sofa and then flops down onto the cushions. Breaking an arm is totally more exhausting than it's made out to be. She thought the pain would keep her awake, but all she wants to do now is lie here, intertwined with Brittany, relax and try to ignore the throbbing in her hand.

Brittany walks over, shrinking into a crouch and runs her fingers through dark locks. Santana closes her eyes at the sensation, humming in appreciation as her legs dangle off the edge of the arm, torso covering half the length of the sofa. She's lying sidewards, but has like zero energy to shuffle up to lay down properly. Plus with the combined feeling of slender fingers running through her hair, her body just relaxes even more and if it continues, she'll probably be asleep.

"Are you okay?" Brittany whispers softly, rocking forward to gracefully fall to her knees. "Are you in pain?"

Santana wants to say no. She doesn't need Brittany nursing her, even though one of those red and white striped uniforms would be _seriously _hot right now, but she kind of is in pain. The throbbing has only intensified since she had the cast put on, and she does kind of wonder how that actually helps the swelling whatsoever. Aren't people supposed to wait till the swelling goes down first? _Whatever. _She's not a doctor.

"Nah, not really," she answers, cracking open her eyes to stare into blue. "It's manageable."

Brittany arches a brow. "San, no-one ever got ahead by pretending they weren't in pain."

Santana lets out a long exhale, smiling when Brittany sweeps her thumb underneath her bottom lip. "Okay," she decides to give in. "I'm in a little bit of pain."

A hand dances down her neck, across her collarbone and towards her shoulder. "Do you want some painkillers?"

Santana turns her head, cheek lying against the sofa cushions as Brittany tilts her heads so they can stare into each other's eyes with ease. "Nope," she grins, idea popping into her mind, "But I think if you kissed it better it would help. Maybe."

"Oh, yeah?" Brittany grins, fingers dancing down the fabric of Santana's t-shirt, over the crook in her elbow and down the cast covering her wrist. "So if I did this," she punctuates by lifting Santana's arm and pressing a kiss to the cast, "Would that work?"

"Nope," Santana shakes her head, smiling widely.

Brittany brushes her lips down the cast, until she reaches Santana's fingers where she presses a kiss to each tip. Finishing by dragging Santana's thumb slowly across her bottom lip, she smiles and looks up. "How about now?"

"_Hmmm..." _Santana smiles slightly, flexing her fingers and testing the movement. Her hand still hurts, but now she has the feel of Brittany's lips tingling her skin and she's not even focusing on the dull ache. "But I think I hurt my cheek when I fell off the bed too."

She knows it's lame, but the grin that spreads across Brittany's face is totally worth how dorky she feels. Still smiling, Brittany stretches up, exposing the long expanse of her throat and presses a lingering kiss to the skin of Santana's cheek, her hand still lightly holding Santana's injured one and body half-lying one top of her girlfriends.

"Is that better?" The blonde asks, pulling away.

"Uh huh," Santana nods, twisting her legs until they fall in front of her and until she can push herself into a sitting position. She reaches down, grabbing two pale hands and tugging until knees drop either side of her hips and Brittany's straddling her, grinning down and staring at her with utter adoration. "But my nose hurts too."

Running her hands up Brittany's thighs, she closes her eyes when lips press against the tip of her nose.

"And the other cheek," she mentions, smiling when lips brush against said spot.

A shiver runs through her body and she squeezes Brittany's hips, trying to find something to ground her. Brittany continues to press soft kisses over her face, lingering above her brow, at the corner of her mouth, on her temple and then down to her jaw. A forehead rests against her own, and then there's hot breath blanketing her lips and making her ache in a different way.

"Did you happen to harm yourself any other place when you fell off the bed?" Brittany asks suggestively, the bluest eyes boring into dark brown.

"You know," Santana gulps, licking her lips. "My lips-"

She doesn't get to finish her sentence before a hot warm mouth is coaxing hers open, tongue slipping in and stroking the velvet heat inside. Brittany's intoxicating taste flows into her mouth and she lets out a low, rumbling moan which makes her hips jut and Brittany's hands to tangle in her hair, securing their faces together. An overwhelming thrill of want surges through her body and she lets her fingers span underneath the hem of Brittany's shirt, touching hot skin and creating a similar groan that's transferred into her mouth after one well placed stroke of a wet tongue.

They both giggle and smile into the kiss, teeth bumping slightly and lips moving sloppily together. But neither of them really give a crap. Santana feels a nose nudge against her cheek and stretches up a little further, tilting until their kiss can deepen again and then they're full on making out, hands roaming gently, fingers tickling and tangling and hormones raging once more.

Her heart's beating hard and fast when Brittany grinds her hips down, and she move her own body in accord to start a heavy rhythm which bottoms out in the pit of her stomach and apex of her thighs. Everything about this kiss is so fucking unbelievable that Santana doesn't even bother thinking about her broken hand, or the way it's still throbbing in one of those dull achy ways.

Well, until she twists her arm and balls the fabric of Brittany's shirt in her hands, the bones in her hand screaming with rejection.

Apparently, Brittany senses it because she kiss slows down, tongues retracting slowly and lips parting with a soft smack until they're staring at each other with bright eyes and swollen lips.

"What's wrong?" Brittany pants, untangling her fingers and tracing them in an invisible line down the side of Santana's neck. "Did I hurt you?"

Santana shakes her head, breathing just as unevenly. "Nope," she grimaces when she slowly unclenches her fist. _That' s _going to get annoying. "It wasn't you, I just got a bit," she bites her lip, eyes flicking down and then up, "Carried away."

"Aw, baby," Brittany coos, stroking her fingers over Santana's temple and down to her jaw. "Do you need me to take care of you?"

Smiling, Santana nods whilst she runs her hands up her girlfriend's thighs, over her hips and then down to her ass cheeks. "I do."

Without warning, Brittany lifts her legs, pushing off Santana's shoulders and sinking to the floor. A mischievous grin on her face, and fluttering blue eyelids that look _way _to innocent to be doing what she's about to, Brittany runs her hands up Santana's thighs. Santana feels her legs being spread a little wider, and delicate fingers dance up dangerously close to the apex of her thighs. It sends shivers, tingles and God knows what else what surging through her body and a whimper catches in her throat.

"Britt, what are yo-"

She's quickly silenced when Brittany leans up, kissing her slowly, dragging her tongue painfully slowly across her bottom lip and nipping it gently with her teeth. "I'm taking care of you," the blonde whispers, pulling away and smiling devilishly.

Santana doesn't answer, instead relishes in the way her top is lifted up slightly, soft lips press delicate kisses down the dip in her stomach, around her navel and across the width of her jeans waistband. Patiently, she waits as her girlfriend sweeps her tongue over her abs, making them twitch and small gasps to escape her own mouth. Pale hands continue their stroke up and down her thighs, down to the insides and then back down slowly. The mere combination of lips and fingers raking against her makes her bite down on her lipand squeeze her eyes shut.

She won't lie. The only disadvantage towards being best friends with and falling in love with Brittany (to be honest, disadvantage is really _not _the word because it's not, like _at all_) is that things can get pretty awkward when it comes to certain sexual things. In the dark, maybe Santana wouldn't be as anxious as she is now, because it's still pretty weird adjusting to Brittany - her best friend of sixteen years - to see all of her junk.

But the way Brittany's looking at her, with intense arousal but innocent adoration (which totally shouldn't be there considering she knows exactly how _un-innocent _Brittany is – hello sex on the kitchen floor?) it just kind of relaxes her and any lingering awkwardness seeps straight out her mind.

"Relax," Brittany whispers, lips brushing over deliciously tanned abs one more time before her hands lift the hem of her girlfriend's shirt once more, gesturing to be held higher. Santana takes it and hooks it over her shoulders and behind her neck where it stays.

"_Uh," _Santana grunts, lowly, when Brittany resumes kissing a direct path down her chest, sinking further to the floor in the process. She feels the breath catch in her throat, because out of all the things she was expect, not going to lie, she wasn't expecting _this._ But she knows how overwhelming the desire to touch and taste each other can get, and _fuck, _she totally understands if Brittany has thrown all reservations and questions out the window.

_Oh God. _This is totally happening.

Brittany licks and nips at the skin above jeans, slowly unzipping them until Santana feels herself bulge out the gap. The sensation of Brittany smiling into her skin makes her throw her head back and slide her fingers into blonde locks of hair, whilst pale hands gently pull down her jeans and boxers. It's like a breath of fresh air when she feels herself spring free of her confinement and bounce against her stomach.

Glancing down, she meets Brittany's twinkling eyes, and feels something hard knot in her stomach, winding her up tighter and tighter and _fucking hell_, she could probably blow her load right now. No-one has ever almost made her lose control just from merely undressing her, but then again, it's not only a physical effect with Brittany – it's emotional and mental. Everything ties in and acts as additions to the final climax, whereas with other women it was just physical.

Lifting her hips slightly, Santana allows Brittany to slide her jeans down further until they're around her ankles, knees spread out and everything on show. She watches her erection throb and twitch with anticipation, and it kind of surprises her because it's pretty much evidential proof that Brittany's different from everyone else she's had. Not only does the blonde make her feel emotionally different, but judging by her full length, it's physical too. And Brittany's still fully clothed... Which says something.

She licks her lips, watching slender fingers dance up the tanned skin of her thigh and then slowly tickle up her abs, by the side of her stiffened member and back down the other side – like she's tracing the outline. Groaning, she tilts her head back and bites down on her lip painfully hard.

This is almost too much to take, so much teasing... but it feels so fucking good.

Brittany gulps audibly when she redoes the loop, and notices the moisture already trickling out, smoothing her thumb over it to rub up and down the slit at a glacial pale. Santana feels herself twitch underneath the touch and lets out a throaty groan, jerking her hips upwards.

"_Oh..." _she moans, clenching her good fist around the fabric of the sofa cushions (instead of blonde locks) when Brittany presses a single, soft kiss to the tip of her dick.

Heat builds around the fabric covering her neck and the urge to rip her and Brittany's clothes almost gets too much to handle. But then tilts her head downwards, locking eyes with her girlfriends as the tip of her cock slips between perfect pink lips. It's probably one of the hottest thing she's ever seen, and her mouth runs dry, fingers sliding up to tangle into blonde locks again as her hips involuntarily jerk a little more, sending her shaft further into Brittany's mouth.

The warm, velvety feeling of Brittany's mouth unconsciously makes her spread her legs wider, and she knows that she's got to stop her hips from moving. Even if it does feel _fucking amazing._ It's not exactly new to her or Brittany that she's bigger than most in length, and she wants to enjoy it just as much as Brittany does. Thrusting and forcing would totally ruin the moment, but it's so fucking hard not to do anything.

Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she watches Brittany dip her head, engulfing more of her cock and feels a tongue sweep up the length of her shaft. _Holy shit,_ there is no way in hell she's going to last long with this. A strangled moan escapes her lips as Brittany pulls back, circling the tip with her tongue and stroking it slowly and simultaneously with her hand.

Pressure builds in the pit of her stomach, and she untangles her fingers from blonde hair, stroking the stray locks away from Brittany's face and holds so she can watch her girlfriend's mouth enveloping her length, head bobbing up and down. With every dip and stroke of a warm, wet tongue, she feels more of her length disappear and it only takes around four loops until lips touch the base and a loud, throaty moan escapes her.

Santana can feel the pressure building in her spine and breathes out heavily, torn with the decision to throw her head back and revel in the pleasure or clench onto the fabric cushions with her injured hand, creating a mixture of pain and pleasure and ultimately prolonging her release. She feels her hand tighten in blonde strands and watches as Brittany hums, dipping low and holding for a second or two before coming up and releasing with a smack.

"_Fuckk..." _Santana groans, cock twitching when Brittany's hand comes up, stroking quickly and licking her lips. It takes literally everything she has not to reach down to her girlfriend, tug her up and return the favour even though it's not even complete.

A devilish smirk etches its way across Brittany's face as Santana feels the heat almost getting too much inside and cries out softly when her girlfriend tilts her cock, ducking her head to run her tongue along the underside painfully slowly and flicking at the top once, twice, three times – hand never ceasing it's quickening pumps. Taking it all in again, she can feel her cock bump the back of her girlfriend's throat, and it seems Brittany has no gag reflex or whatever and that just intensifies everything by like a hundred, million times.

Her hips jerk off the sofa, rising a little further than before silently asking for more because she's about three seconds away from imploding and seeing sparks. She can feel her eyes shining down at her girlfriend, despite blue eyes focusing on the task at hand, and the need to stay in control and to with hold the climax is straining her, a thin layer of sweat covering her forehead. Clenching her jaw, she fights the urge to throw her head back and let everything go and locks gazes with Brittany, biting on her lip hard when a mouth covers her erection once more, swallowing until a nose nudges below her navel.

She grips the fabric of the cushions with her injured hand again, and focuses on _not _tightening the grip in Brittany's hair. Sucking in her bottom lip as if she's concentrating, and brown eyes never leaving blue, she feels herself whimpering and rolling her hips. Thousands of millions of tingles shoot down her spine, body tensing as a moan comes from Brittany – the vibrations almost making her lose control as her breaths grow harsher and harsher.

"_Baby..."_ Santana says, her voice low and husky. _"I'm gonna..."_

Brittany pulls back, flicking her tongue over the tip one more time before replacing with her hand and pumps Santana's shaft, quickening the pace with every stroke.

Something snaps inside of Santana on the third stroke, like an elastic band that's stretched too far and a noise – torn between a growl and a moan – escapes her lips as she shoots her load. Squeezing her eyes shut, Santana sees sparks and fireworks explode behind her lids and the movement on her member slows down a little – but now before hot liquid spurts across her stomach, warming the skin of her abs.

Brittany pushes up from the floor, taking the seat next to her - whilst still working her shaft - and brings their lips together, tongue pushing past lips and tangling with the other, stroking softly through warm oral heat. Her entire body ripples as Brittany slides her hand up with ease (thanks to the added lubricant) and pinches lightly, coaxing out more which Santana can only give. The brunette throws her head back, breaking the kiss and groaning loudly as she feels herself release more than she thought she could.

Breathing heavily, she turns her head, capturing pink lips one more time as her injured hand cup's Brittany's cheek, deepening the kiss and finding the most beneficial angle for them to slant against one another.

A few seconds pass, and Santana feels herself dripping the last of what she has, the hot moisture trickling down her shaft and onto the warm fingers around it. Breaking the kiss, and breathing hard and heavy, she tips her forehead against Brittany's, licking her lips and tasting her girlfriend and herself on them.

"Jesus, Britt..." she pants hoarsely, nudging her nose forward to press a lingering kiss to pink lips.

Pulling away, she watches a half-smirk, half-smile etch its way across Brittany's face and she leaves a relieved breath. Using her thumb, she wipes across Brittany's bottom lip, taking away the excess moisture and gently palms her cheek, revelling the soft touch underneath her own.

She won't deny it. Having Brittany going down on her was kind of something she was nervous about. Sure, she's gone down on Brittany, but it was different for some reason. They were in a different situation and in some enhanced stupor where neither cared about anything else except in themselves, in the moment, pleasing each other and showing just how much they meant to each other.

Doesn't really matter though. What just happened was _fucking incredible, _and somehow, she feels like it may have brought them a little closer.

"Was that okay?" Brittany asks, a little shakily. Glad to see Santana's not the only one nervous.

"That was-" the words trail off, lost in the amazement of how Brittany's still bringing her down from her explosive orgasm with gentle strokes. "_Amazing," _she finishes, face breaking out into a relieved grin.

Blue eyes beam with joy and then they're kissing again softly, tongues teasing bottom lips, sucking gently and revelling in each other's mouths. Brittany pulls away first, chuckling lightly and removes her hand, fingers rubbing against one another as they spread around Santana's juices.

_Shit, _she thinks, looking down at herself and noticing how much she actually blew. Her liquid is all over her stomach, pooling a little in the dip of her abs and seeping down the protrusion of her hip bone. She knew Brittany effected her physically and emotionally, hell, it doesn't take a genius to see that, but apparently it even has like internal effects by increasing her load. _Jesus._

"Sorry," Santana says, biting her lip, eyes flicking between glistening fingers and her own glistening stomach.

Brittany just shakes her head, still smiling and leans in to peck her lips before getting up. "We need to clean you up," she tells her, offering out her non-covered hand and winking. "Let's go shower."

Santana trips over her jeans - that are hooked around her ankles - as she latches onto Brittany's hand and tries to sprint towards the bathroom.

_Embarrassing_, but Brittany's giggle relaxes hers and she muffles a laugh into the hardwood floor.

* * *

><p>Getting into the shower took a little longer than both of them expected. The rush of stumbling towards the bathroom, ripping each other's clothes off and trading sloppy kisses was harder than first thought. Not to mention when they got there, Brittany remembered Santana's cast and had to walk back into the kitchen, leaving a sticky brunette, to fetch a plastic bag.<p>

_Total _mood killer.

But anyway. They're in the shower, warm water pelting down on their skin as they're pressed up against each other, just staring at each other, sappy smiles pasted across their faces and admiring gazes locked. Sure it had been a flurry before, with hopes and rushed kisses, but after waiting and having to tie a plastic bag around her arm – it kind of slowed things down.

"Want me to wash your hair?" Brittany asks, reaching towards the wall rack for the coconut shampoo.

Santana nods. "Please."

Turning around, she tilts her head slightly and flutters her eyes shut when slender fingers start massaging the cold shampoo into her hair. At first she kind of shivered at the sensation of the cool liquid touching her scalp, but it was quickly forgotten when Brittany started rubbing it in.

"Move under the shower head," Brittany coaxes, gripping Santana's bicep and pushing slightly until she stands directly underneath the line of water, washing out the suds. Her fingers comb through dark locks, making sure to get every last bit out until she leans forward and presses a kiss to a tanned shoulder, signifying the finish.

Santana smiles at the tingling sensation on the skin of her shoulder and turns, hands immediately finding hips and gripping. "Want me to wash yours?"

Mirroring her answer, Brittany turns around and tilts her head back. Her golden hair darkens into a dirty blonde when the water dampens it. Santana bites down on her bottom lip, cocking her own head and taking a tiny step back until she can fully admire the length of her girlfriend's naked body. The curve of her ass, the dip in her spine, the ripping muscles in her shoulders blades. _Jesus, _the only thing better than a naked Brittany, is a naked _wet _Brittany.

Taking note of the non-moving seconds, Brittany twists her head, looking over her shoulder at Santana and blushing when she notices trailing brown eyes. Santana grins, eyes darting up until they lock with blue and steps forward, slipping the shampoo bottle out of a pale hand and squeezing a generous amount into her hands. Stretching her arms, she starts from Brittany's hairline and combs backwards, feeling her girlfriend shiver under her touch and _fuck, _this is probably the most intimate thing she's ever done with _anyone._

"Move under baby," Santana says softly, not resisting as she glides her fingers down the bare expanse of Brittany's back, tickling the side of her ribs and settling on the lowest part of her hips – practically her ass.

Brittany giggles, but shifts anyway, coming underneath the shower head and running her own hands through her hair to rub out the suds. Santana's kind of distracted with the rippling of her girlfriend's muscles as she moves - the shower light _totally _does Brittany's rocking body justice.

Finishing washing out her hair, the blonde turns again until they're face to face, gazing at each other and watching adoringly. Santana just loves how she basically has four whole weeks to do this. Obviously not stand in the shower, although that would be good, but just spend her time talking and staring at Brittany. Probably not during work times though, because obviously they'll be in separate places. Which brings a question to mind, actually.

"Hey, Britt?"

Brittany smiles, reaching above to the top of the shower door to grab the shower gel. "Yes?"

Pretty distracting for Santana with perfect breasts practically brushing her chin. She licks her lips, trying to focus on the question instead of pink nipples just aching to be touched.

"Is it going to be awkward?" she asks, closing her eyes when Brittany rubs down her palm with the shower gel down one arm, white foam forming underneath the water. Seeking clarification, Brittany narrows her eyes as a small, confused smile plays at her lips."At the studio, with Mike?" Santana continues, taking the bottle from her girlfriend and squeezing some into her hand.

"Oh," Brittany stills for a second, eyes clouding over with thought. "I haven't really thought about it."

Santana sweeps her hand quickly underneath the pelting water and then starts to massage the shower crème into her girlfriend's skin, starting at her shoulders, down her biceps, across the swell of her breasts and then between her cleavage. Brittany shivers when tanned fingers dance across her abs, and Santana smirks knowingly. She fucking loves the effect she has on Brittany.

"I guess I'll just have to see when I get there," Brittany shrugs, moving her hands across Santana's body to rub in the shower gel.

Sensing this is probably the right moment to ask, Santana gnaws on her bottom lip, pausing her movement and glances up into bright blue eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

Brittany nods. "Of course."

"Okay," Santana draws in a deep breath, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend's body and pulling them flush against one another until they're standing underneath the line of water where it washes away the soap suds. "Well, I was just wondering," she swallows thickly, closing her eyes when Brittany's hand wipes away a drip b her brow. "What happened with you and Mike?"

Fair brows furrow. "As in..."

"As in breaking up." Santana clarifies, ducking her head.

This isn't something she wants to ask. Especially in the shower when she's naked and has the most beautiful woman in the entire world completely stark naked next to her – but this question has been bugging her for a while. It's been tugging at the back of her brain and so far, this has been the only opportunity where she thinks that maybe she's _allowed _to ask.

It's not like she's worried Brittany will get angry at her, or coil up into a protective ball, it's just that neither of them really want to talk about something that kept them apart. Something which they were both still using as an excuse to pretend like they weren't made for each other. Touchy subject for both of them, really.

Inhaling deeply, Brittany shakes her head like she knows she's going to have to talk about it sometime and lifts her head so they can stare into each other's eyes. "I'm going to be honest, okay?"

Santana nods. Honesty is good. Even though most of the time the truth sucks. But between them, honesty is good.

"After you left my apartment," Brittany starts, lip quivering with the memory. Santana clenches her jaw too in reaction.

There's a small part in the back of her mind reminding her of how far they've come. Whoever though they'd be here right now after that dreaded night? She almost smiles.

"I went to meet Mike, as you know," her hands come up to tangle fingers into dark locks, forearms resting on pale shoulders. "But I was already late and when I turned up to the theatre, he was standing outside."

Sensing the sadness, Santana steps closer until there's no space between them and her arms are wrapped around Brittany's waist, palms pressed against the small of her girlfriend's back. "If you don't want to talk about it-"

"No," the blonde shakes her head, closing her eyes and tilting forward until their foreheads touch. "It's fine, I just need too..."

Santana knows even though she words aren't spoken. Brittany needs time.

If there's one thing _anyone _knows about Brittany, even from a second of meeting her, is how pure and good she is. How she has a heart of gold and doesn't' want to deceive or harm anyone purposely. Brittany's so good to everyone and Santana knows the last thing her girlfriend wants is to remember the time when she was hurting two people at once.

"Okay," Santana breathes out, nodding against Brittany's forehead.

Brittany lets out a long exhale. "Okay, well anyway, I went to meet Mike and he was standing outside...

* * *

><p><em>Brittany's heart's pounding as she runs across the street, holding her coat tight against her body and barely taking notice that four cabs beep at her. She doesn't care. Everything's so fucked up and she doesn't know what she's going to say. To Mike. To Santana. How is she going to explain that she's late for a date with her <em>fiancée_because she just slept with her best friend?_

_Sometimes she really _is _dumb._

"_Mike!" She yells, sucking in her slightly swollen lips. _Crap, _she didn't think about that. Does she have sex hair?_

_Mike turns, eyes boring into hers._

"_I'm sorry I'm late," she pants, slowing to a walk. In the back of her mind somewhere, she registers that she doesn't get the same fluttering feeling when she sees him that she gets whenever Santana comes into view. _

_He clenches his jaw, spinning on his heel to cross the road, with Brittany in toe – struggling to catch up._

"_Santana had a problem with Sophie and she asked me to help her." It's technically not a lie, but it's not exactly the truth either. At least with this she there will be a little less guilt because it's just twisting the truth into a very fine line. "I'm sorry."_

_But Mike stays quiet, shoving his hands into his pockets as cabs pass behind them. They reach the opposite side of the street, Brittany's breath coming out in small white clouds and Mike keeping his head straight, face stoic as she tries to explain._

"_I just didn't know what to do," she continues, pulling the lapels of her coat and tugging it closer around her body. Crossing her arms, she matches his fast pace and tries to gage his expression. "It was so messed up."_

"_Yeah." Mike says bluntly, the muscles visibly tightening in his jaw._

_Brittany furrows her brow, throwing a quick look towards the theatre to see the doors closed and barely any lights on. There's not even a possibility they could go in now. Strict rules about attending late performances or something. Theatres have always been strange like that. Prior experiences about her family or Santana coming to a performance has taught her that. Always arrive early._

_Silence invades their conversation as they proceed down the street, cars driving past at a similar speed to their walking pace. Something hangs heavily in the pit of her stomach and catches the back of her throat. Guilt, she thinks. No, scratch that, she knows it's guilt._

_How can she explain?_

"_We can see the show tomorrow?" She tries, voice cracking with the guilt she feels. Slowing down, she cocks her head to the side and furrows her brows. This isn't like Mike. He would usually give her a chance. Inwardly, she panics. Does he know? "I'll pay for the tickets?"_

_About five metres in front of her, Mike slows down until he's paused in the street, hands still buried deep in his pocket. "It's not about the tickets, Brittany."_

_She swallows heavily, licking her lips and trying not to recognise the distinct, sweet taste of Santana on them. It just makes her feel worse. "Then what is it about?"_

"_How long are you two going to do this?" Mike asks through a long exhale, head hanging low as his foot scuffs along the pavement._

_People say she's not smart. Well, not so much anymore. But in high school they always called her a dumb blonde. She's not though. She's perceptive. Santana once said that she was smarter than the majority of people, her mind just worked in a different way. Santana's the only one that's only really ever believed in her, come to think of it._

_Anyway, she still asks. Even though she knows exactly what Mike's talking about "Who?"_

_Clenching his jaw, Mike spins around. "You and Santana," he says solemnly, hurt flashing behind his dark eyes._

_Brittany shakes her head, eyes squinting and bottom lip quivering. "W-what about u-us? We're n-not doing anyth-"_

"_Brittany!" Mike exclaims, throwing his hands into the air. His voice is angrier and sharper than she's ever heard. "Stop lying to me!"_

_She can feel it in her gut. The guilt. The pressure. The confession. It's all building up and soon it'll just spill out. For too long there's been something unspoken between her and Santana. Ever since... Well, for as long as she can remember. It's always been Santana that's been there. _

_Santana and her beautiful smile to cheer up any dark day. Santana and her comforting words, soft expressions and hugs that are too tight, too intimate, too warm to be friendly. It's always been Santana that's been on the end of the phone whenever something goes wrong, or something goes right. Even now, all Brittany wants to do is run to her best friend's house and curl up, inhaling Santana's sweet, exotic scent that just relaxes her._

_Always Santana._

_Brittany just can't help it. There's always been something so enticing about her best friend. Something that draws them together like two ends of a magnetic. It's like they're connected by some invisible, unbreakable thread, and no matter what happens, they'll always be them in the end. Together and perfectly happy with who they are and how they have each other._

_They've only ever needed each other._

"_Just please..." Mike whispers brokenly, "Don't lie to me."_

_The way his face drops and eyes gloss makes something wrench at her heart and suddenly she's crying. Tears trail down her cheeks, and she brings a finger up to wipe them away even though as soon as she does it, replacements are already there. She watches his shoulders rise and fall unevenly like he's about to cry, and she can't think of anything else to say apart from this;_

"_I love you."_

_Slowly, Mike lifts his gaze, seeing the plea in her words and how instead of a reuniting of their relationship, it's the finality. She knows he can hear the way it comes out sounding more like _I love you but I can't be with you_ and it makes her hate herself a little bit more. Mike's never done anything to her. Never disrespected her, never hurt her. And what's she done? She's screwed with his feelings as well as Santana's._

_She's taken Santana, the one person who is basically Brittany's world, and messed that up._

_She's taken Mike, the one person who she knows will love her eternally and treat her right, and messed that up too._

"_But not the way you love Santana." Mike says, the words coming out in a statement in opposed to a question._

_Sobbing, she takes a long step forward, arms falling by her side helplessly. She can't deny it. Even if she wanted too, she doesn't think she could actually say the words. Not because of the insistent gasps she keeps taking, but because her heart won't let her. _

"_What do I do, Mike?" Brittany asks, face crumpling and eyes glossing over with a new round of tears. "What can I do?"_

_It's not fair to Mike. But she doesn't know what else to do. On one hand she has Mike, a perfect man with a good job, a loving family and who will love her eternally. But on the other she has Santana... Who's just... Everything. The good. The bad. _

"_You need to choose," Mike says, taking a step forward until he's staring down at Brittany with watery eyes. "You need to decide where your heart belongs and follow it."_

_It's not what she was expected, but frustration burns through her and she throws her hands up into the air, fingers combing through her blonde locks and pulling tightly to create some type of physical pain to take away the pressure of the emotional pain. Mike doesn't even flinch, instead grabbing her wrists and tugging them away until their by her side._

"_You need to decide who you want, not who you _want _to want."_

_Brittany sucks in a shaky breath, hating the way Mike's hands curl around her comfortingly. She'd much prefer if he was yelling or saying hurtful thing, because at least that would make this easier. Her mind is screaming at her one thing, but her heart is saying completely different and it's a confliction that's been going on for so long, she's not entirely sure which voice belongs where._

"_N-no matter w-what I d-do," she whimpers, eyes flicking up towards the sky to hold back the next flow of tears. "I h-hurt someone." _

_She fucking hates this. Everything used to be simple. Well, she used to be able to pretend it was simple. Throughout college was hard, and pretending seeing Santana with other girls was hard too, but it was manageable. It was something she could balance, or distract herself with dancing and other activities._

_But now it's just too much._

_It's not like she's blaming Santana, but why couldn't she have realised it before? Before everything got so friggin' complicated and messed up. Why couldn't Santana have seen that they could've worked, instead of just offering a stupid proposition of 'we should give it a go'. Brittany wanted more. But the time has passed._

_Or has it?_

_Things are so damn complicated._

"_Sacrifices have to be made, Brittany. Whether it's me, or whether it's Santana." Mike says in a calm and collect voice – even though his expression contradicts that. "You have to decide who you need and what your heart," he points to her chest, "What your heart needs."_

_Brittany lets out a loud sob, tears free falling as she falls forward, forehead pressing against Mike's shoulder and hands covering her eyes, wedged between them. This isn't fair. She knows it. It's not fair to Mike, to Santana, to herself. But she needs this. Mike's being so damn sweet and she knows that's why she fell in love with him so fast. He's perfect. He's a perfect guy._

_But sometimes perfect isn't what people need._

"_I have you," she whimpers, bringing her head back to wipe her sleeve across her cheeks, "And you're wonderful and everything a girl should want and love, and I do love you but Santana is..."_

"_Santana's what?" Mike asks, tilting her chin up with his forefinger._

_Brittany clenches her jaw, the surge of emotion rushing through her veins and making her head pound and pulse race. It's on the tip of her tongue. She knows exactly what Santana is. Santana's impatient, grumpy, over protective, snappy, sarcastic, hard, and by God she's stubborn. But then she's funny. She's compassionate, beautiful, generous, sweet, sensitive, caring. _

"_She's a mess," Brittany shrugs, bottom lip quivering because mess doesn't even begin to describe Santana. It's just that no words can describe how conflicted she is. It's like Santana is a walking confliction, a body of mixed up emotions and all that jazz. But that doesn't quite do it, calling Santana a mess. Because that's not just what she is._

_So glancing up, Brittany locks gazes with Mike and brings her right hand down to her left, grasping the silver band with the sparkling diamond on and covering it. "But she's my mess."_

"_And you love her," Mike says, lowly, eyes softening._

_Sucking in her lips and tasting the salt of her tears, Brittany nods and crinkles her face – trying to restrain the tears that are already falling. "I do."_

_Mike dips his head, the string of their relationship just tearing apart, each piece falling to the ground lifelessly. Brittany wraps her fingers around the silver band, pulling until it slips off her finger. For a while it's been weighing her down, pulling on her heart and yanking on the guilt building inside of her. She takes it between her fingers, taking in one final shaky breath and then offers it forward, biting down on the urge to crumble to her knees and scream her apologies._

"_I'm sorry," she says, which actually sounds a lot like _I can't marry you_. _

_Mike gets it. He looks up, nodding in defeat but takes the ring. Brittany can't stand the pain of watching what she's doing to one of the most wonderful guys in the world and turns away, sucking in small breaths because that's all she can manage and tries to steady her footing as she leaves behind something she knows should have been perfect for her. But wasn't._

_Because Santana may be a screw up. Santana may be bitchy, insecure, obnoxious at times and so damn frustrating. But she's the one. _

_Santana is Brittany's._

_And Brittany is Santana's._

* * *

><p>By the time Brittany finishes the story, both of them are dressed in sweatpants, baggy sweatshirts and are sitting on the sofa. Santana with her legs spread open along the width of the couch with Brittany between them, her back pressing to Santana's front. Their fingers are laced together on Brittany's stomach, resting gently above her abs with Santana running a comforting thumb over the smooth, creamy skin of her hand, and Brittany stroking the inside of Santana's cast covered wrist.<p>

"And that was the end of that," Brittany says through a long exhale, resting the back of her head against Santana's shoulder.

This feeling of lying here with the love of her life, knowing that both of them knew where they were going to end up and belong just makes her sigh in contentment. Even though she still can't believe that Brittany loves her, that she's lucky enough to have the most wonderful being in the entire world return the feelings she has, and that for some strange reason, fate led them to be together... She doesn't even want to question it.

In the same way she wouldn't change a second of their time together. The same way she wouldn't change their past or alter anything between them, because if it wasn't for the pain, the anguish and the guilt they both suffered, they wouldn't have ended up here... Lying in each other's arms and knowing just how in love with each other they are.

Craning her neck, Santana presses a reassuring kiss to her girlfriend's temple and snuggles closer. "I love you, Britt," she mutters, because it's the only thing that she's one hundred percent certain about.

Brittany twists her head, tilting until their lips are merely inches away from each other and there's a sparkle in her eyes and a smile playing at her lips that makes Santana's heart flutter and flip.

"I love you, too," the blonde whispers back, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Santana's lips before turning and resuming her original place.

Because it doesn't matter what's happened in the past. It led them here. Where they belong to each other. And always will.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed! And look out for something a little different happening in the next update!<strong>


	25. interlude  part one

**Hola amigos. Someone suggested that I do something, and it actually turns out that it fits perfectly with my storyline – so I'm going to give it a try. Bare with me for this, because I've actually pretty much never done it before – bar a snippet in the last chapter.**

**You'll understand why this chapter isn't titled 'chapter twenty five' when you start reading. But yeah, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>T<strong>**itle: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Interlude – Part One]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>4.8k

* * *

><p>The shrill sound of her phone ringing wakes Brittany up in the morning.<p>

Grumbling, she squints open her eyes, forcing the groggy feeling at the back of her brain away and reaches over towards her phone. It's about an inch away from her fingertips when she feels someone shuffle closer into her back, the arm around her waist tightening and she grins.

_Fuck the phone, _she thinks, turning her head and trailing an invisible path up perfectly manicured nails, smooth forearms and toned biceps with her eyes. Finally, she settles on Santana's face, marvelling at it in all its perfection.

Even sleeping Santana is painfully beautiful. With dark locks cascading over the white pillows, perfect, pouty lips slightly parted as airy breaths escape them and flawless mocha coloured skin cover every inch of her body. Sometimes Brittany doesn't get how Santana can call _her _beautiful when mirrors exist.

"Quit staring," Santana mumbles sleepily, eyes remaining shut. "It's rude."

Brittany feels her entire face light up and chuckles, her available hand reaching out to trace an invisible line around the curve of Santana's brow, down her cheekbone and along the rim of her upper lip. "I can't help it."

Santana scrunches up her face, a smile tugging at her lips as she groans and shuffles backwards, loosening her arms from around Brittany. "You're so cheesy."

"Like a cheesy puff," Brittany responds, ignoring her insistent ringtone and rolls until they're facing each other.

She watches slowly as Santana opens her eyes, revealing the most intense, beautiful dark brown eyes that she's ever known to man. There's something so wonderfully mysterious about them that it kind of makes her want to melt into a puddle of love. She loves the way that one second they can be staring at a Chihuahua (Santana totally hates them) with a hard, angry edge and then the next, they're aimed at her and they're soft, dreamy and like melted chocolate.

"Hey," she whispers out, nudging their noses together as a tanned hand sneaks across to her hip, gripping it as their legs tangle together.

Santana grins sleepily, squinting one eye against the intruding sunlight. "Hello beautiful."

Blushing, Brittany ducks her head into the crook of her girlfriend's neck, tucking her hands beneath her own chin as they press closer together. "Hi," she whispers shyly, lips brushing across the hollow of Santana's neck.

"You already said that," Santana replies, running her hand through blonde locks. Brittany shuts her eyes at the sensation, feeling love and warmth spread across her body and tingle at the base of her spine. "But hello again."

They lay there silently for a few minutes, a tanned hand running through Brittany's hair as she breathes in Santana's scent. She knows she's got to be at work in like, an hour, but the mix of sweet, floral perfume and exotic tanned skin coming from Santana is just making her mouth water with desire.

Licking her lips, she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Santana's throbbing pulse point, loving the way it jolts under her touch. Slowly, she moves up, trailing kisses along a defined jawline and up her girlfriend's chin until her top lip brushes against Santana's bottom.

A quick make out session won't make her late, right?

She pulls back, meeting smiling brown eyes and it almost makes her want to faint with how adoringly they're staring at her. It's ridiculous that for sixteen years, they've been staring at her exactly the same way, but neither of them really noticed. Well, neither of them gave the chance to notice. Too caught up in other things she guesses.

"Morning," she chirps again, leaning forward to press her lips to Santana's.

For long moments they barely move their lips, content with the mere feeling of them touching but then she feels a hand slide down to her ass, grabbing the curve joining her butt and thigh and pulling until she rolls and lies directly on top of Santana.

Smiling into the kiss, she tilts her head and deepens it, taking her girlfriend's top lip into her mouth and sucking gently, running her tongue along the edge. A low, throaty groan vibrates into her mouth and hands come around to her back, arms tightening around her waist until there's no room between them. She glides her hands up, tangling into dark locks and securing their faces together, trying to inhale through her nose but failing badly.

Breaking the kiss only for air, Brittany ducks back down, ghosting her lips over Santana's and humming when her girlfriend shudders from the touch, edging her neck up a little to try and resume kissing. But she doesn't let in. If there's one thing she loves doing to Santana (among other things) is teasing her. She loves how riled up her girlfriend gets and how Santana's bottom lip juts out into a small pout.

There's no use though. Brittany basically _invented _pouting, so it won't work on her. Then again, Santana doing just about anything is hard to resist.

Flicking her tongue out, she catches the rim of Santana's upper lip and pulls away quickly, grinning widely. Santana's face scrunches up, nose crinkling and eyes narrowing as she shakes her head from side to side.

"Ew, Britt," Santana faux whines, "That's gross."

Brittany leans down, nuzzling their noses together. "You love it."

"I love you," Santana retorts quickly, eyes shining with sincerity. It makes Brittany's heart flip and do multiple somersaults and all different kinds of gymnastic crap. Kind of like the stuff she used to do back in Freshman year for Coach Sue.

Sinking back down, Brittany brings their lips back together and doesn't hesitate as she licks her way into Santana's mouth, tracing the roof of her girlfriend's mouth and curling around her teeth. The hands on her back slide down, slipping underneath the hem of her sleep shirt and trailing their way up the smooth skin of her back. She shudders at the touch, her skin tingling and tries not to groan loudly as caramel fingers slip around to the side of her breast, lingering dangerously close.

"Nuh, uh," Brittany mumbles against soft lips that continue pecking at hers. "I've got to," kiss, "go to," long, slow kiss, "work."

Santana pulls back with a half-smile, half-pout. Brittany feels her head spin and stomach flutter as she ghosts her lips over her girlfriend's one last time. Barely even touching them but pouring as much emotion into it as a passionate, hungry kiss would.

"Me too."

Tipping forward, she rests her forehead against a tanned one and smiles down at Santana. "I really don't want too."

"Me neither," Santana replies, sliding her hands up the inside of Brittany's t-shirt and grazing down the skin lightly with her nails. "We could just stay in bed all day," Santana rubs her thumbs up Brittany's ribs, "And just make out," she leans forward, pressing a kiss to Brittany's lips, "And do stuff."

Giggling, Brittany shakes her head, knowing the offer is seriously tempting. "What kinda stuff?" she cocks an eyebrow playfully.

"Hmm..." Santana pretends to ponder, eyes roaming above Brittany's head and looking at nothing. Seconds late they return. "NC-17 rated stuff me thinks."

Loving the idea, Brittany grinds down subconsciously (even though there's a little part of her that thinks maybe she just likes teasing Santana) and feels her hips meet Santana's, the bulge in her girlfriend's boxers press against the apex of her own thighs. They both groan simultaneously.

"Baby, you can't do that," Santana whines, "Not when we actually _have_ to get up."

Brittany grins before pecking Santana's lips once, twice, three times and then rolls off, throwing the comforter off in the process. The sensation of the cool air piercing her skin after the warmth makes her grimace, but then the bed dips behind her and tanned legs hang either side of her body. She feels Santana's arms snake around her midsection, palms pressing flat to her abs and sinks into the embrace, bowing her back slightly.

Soft kisses are pressed to the skin of her shoulder, trailing up towards her neck and then stopping just below her earlobe. "I'll be gone for most of the day," Santana whispers, teeth nipping Brittany's earlobe gently.

"How comes?" Brittany asks, fingers dancing over the back of Santana's hands until they rest, lacing through with caramel ones. There was a little hope that maybe Santana would come back from work earlier and then they could _do stuff. _She's almost distracted by the contrasting skin colour as she glances down, but then Santana speaks and breaks her out of it.

"Things to do," she hears, and swears she can feel Santana smile into her neck as she presses her face into it. "People to see."

"Man about a dog?" Brittany continues, grinning to herself.

"Nah," Santana shakes her head, "Woman about a cat."

It takes a few seconds, but when she replaces the word 'cat' with something a little more vulgar, her mouth drops open and she turns, eyes wide. "Santana!" She half-yells, releasing one of her hands to slap playfully at her girlfriend's bicep.

Santana just grins, giggling. "I'm kidding, baby. I only like and want one_ cat._"

"That's..." Brittany narrows her eyes, wondering whether she should be complimented or not. "Confusing, And I think kind of crude."

"S'posed to be complimentary," Santana mumbles, lips brushing against Brittany's protruding shoulder bone. "I think."

Smiling ridiculously largely considering her girlfriend just made a _seriously _crude comment, she twists her head, pecking Santana's lips then pats the tanned hands on her abs (careful of the bandaged one) and motions to get up. They tighten their hold, _of course, _and she rolls her eyes playfully, settling back as she only managed to lift about four inches off the mattress.

"We need to go," she says, a little firmer than before. "Neither of us can be late."

She feels Santana shrug behind her, follow by; "Quinn can wait. I want my kisses."

Deciding to tease a little, Brittany nods and says, "Let me turn around then," before managing to push through the caramel barrier routing her to her seat. Standing, she turns and presses her hands to each of Santana's thighs, leaning her weight on them as she bends forward, lips pouted. A second before they kiss, Brittany leans up and kisses a button nose and then the corner of full lips and pulls away.

Santana just sits there, wide eyed and shocked. There's a knowing smirk crawling up onto her face, but Brittany just arches a brow because _seriously, _teasing Santana is one of the best things ever. Especially with morning kisses, or kisses in general actually.

"There's your kisses," Brittany murmurs, smirking and backing away slowly towards the bathroom. "Now get ready."

"Bu-"

"Nuh uh," Brittany lifts her hand, wagging her pointer finger. "Get dressed and we'll see about those kisses."

Then she disappears into the bathroom, making sure to flick the lock on because, well, _Santana._

* * *

><p>Turns out they were actually a lot later than either of them thought, and Brittany managed to give Santana a single kiss on the cheek before half-sprinting out the door, hair ruffled and t-shirt still bunched underneath her bra. Pretty funny to see Mrs. Anderson's expression as she leapt down the five step stoop.<p>

Anyway, she knows today is the day where she'll have to face Mike again. First day back at the studio (even though it was supposed to be her second, but Santana's distracting, okay?) and first time she'll see Mike after that eventful evening outside the theatre. To say she's feeling guilty is pretty much the weakest explanation.

Tina's there when she walks through the entrance of the dance studio. The Asian woman is smiling, half-wary and half-sympathetic because really? What else was she expecting? So far it's only Rachel and Quinn that know about her and Santana. Sure, Mike was expecting it, but it hasn't been confirmed. Not to mention, she's incredibly happy for a person who broke up with their fiancée a few days ago. Tina probably thinks she's high.

"Morning, Brittany." Tina says a little too cheery for the time of the morning.

Brittany smiles anyway. She's not one to be rude. "Morning, T."

She pauses at the front desk which Tina's occupying, leaning onto her forearms and rocking onto the balls of her feet to peer down the hallway to her right. Usually Mike's in the room down the bottom, top off and music blaring as he glides around the room flawlessly. But not this morning. This morning the door is shut, room blocked off by the wooden panel and there's no trace of music in the air.

"Where's Mike?"

Tina's face pales, features falling like someone just caught her stealing something. "I-I don't k-know, B-Brittany."

It's not exactly a hidden fact that Tina once failed a stutter back in college (that's where they met). It was just one of those nervous things that came out when Tina met new people. Some people pretend to like stuff to fit in, some people accidentally fake an accent, like in Friends with Ross teaching the class. People do silly things when they're nervous, and apparently Tina went down the fake-a-stutter-for-sympathy route.

Brittany's never been one to hold grudges though. Plus, she gets the pressure of meeting new people. Dancers have to do it all the time.

"Is he in?"

Tina bites her bottom lip, glancing around the room to see if anyone's in. Brittany can't tell if it's a _save me _glance or a _is anyone there_ one. "He's upstairs at the moment. Having a break."

Blue eyes narrow. "Why? Did he hurt himself or something?"

"No," Tina shakes her head vigilantly. "He was just a bit... sad, earlier."

"Oh." Brittany immediately feels guilty again.

All is well when she's with Santana, because she doesn't pay much attention to the outside world. When she and Santana are together, it's like they're in their own little love bubble and no-one can penetrate it no matter what. She almost smiles thinking about it before realizing how weird she'd look.

"Well I'm gonna go set up for the nine o'clock class," she bites her bottom lip. "Warm up a little first."

Tina nods but then exhales heavily like she's relieved, fingers tapping away at the keyboard by the computer. Brittany turns quickly, trying to figure out what the hell's going on because she knows she is. She's _not _stupid. Contrary to popular opinion. Perception is definitely one of her skills and right now, they're tingling. Kind of like Spiderman and his Spidey Sense.

"What's going on?" Brittany asks, a little surprised that she actually did. Usually she'd just leave it. But this... This seems strange. Tina's never like this. Quiet, sure. But judgemental? Never.

Tina sucks in her lips, pausing her movement and looks up. "N-nothing, Brittany. Why?"

"You're hiding something." _Wow, _seems Santana has really got inside of her. No pun intended. "What's going on?"

The Asian woman's mouth drops open, but then the door to the right, the one leading to the staff area upstairs, opens and Mike steps out, eyes smiling as they land on Tina, but face faltering when they find Brittany's presence.

Mike lowers his gaze, tucking his hands into his pockets, straightening his elbows and rocking awkwardly. Seriously, she's never got why people do that. It may seem like they're making it _less _awkward, but it just increases it. Pointing out the blatant tension lingering in the air only makes it ten times worse.

"Hey, Mike." Brittany decides to start with something small to break the ice.

Tina apparently finds something to do, because she clears her throat, gathers up two folders which Brittany are pretty sure are empty, and heads through to the staff area, head ducked.

"Hey, B." Mike's voice is low, but there's something lingering at the back of it and she can't quite place it.

Brittany sucks in her lips, biting down on them gentle. Mike's just standing there, sadness flashing across his face and tightening the muscles along his defined jawline. She feels bad. Like super bad. It's pretty corny to relate it to a fairy tale, but there's always one person who ends up hurt and alone. Disney never show that part though, do they.

Her mouth drops open to say the words _how are you_, but it snaps shut as she realizes exactly how much she _doesn't _want to hear the answer. Mike just stares at her awkwardly, eyebrow cocking as he mouths pop together and she just tries a smile.

"So," Mike starts off awkwardly. "I've... Got to practice... Dance."

Brittany nods, not questioning his lie. It hurts knowing how dramatically their relationship has changed. Sure, it was pretty unrealistic to think that they could be friends, because that's like having your dog dying but your parents saying _we can stuff it for you though_. It's just not the same. It sucks.

Guilt passes through her body and she feels heat prick at her eyelids. She can't cry now. Not in front of Mike. She won't. He's too nice and she _wants _to feel bad. She has too. It's the least she deserves for what she did to him.

"Sure," she sucks in a shaky breath. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah..." Mike ducks his head and walks past her swiftly. "See you around."

Brittany runs upstairs before the tears become too much.

* * *

><p>It's encoded into her to dial Santana's number when she cries. It's like muscle memory or something and her body knows instantly to search for her phone and type in the number from heart. As always, the line only dials twice before she hears Santana's voice down the other end. Never fails to bring a smile to her face, no matter the mood.<p>

"_Hey baby." _Brittany sniffles and she hears Santana's breath still down the line. _"What's wrong? Are you okay?"_

"N-nothing," she replies, running her sleeve underneath her nose to wipe away the tears. "I j-just..."

"_Britt, hun, I'm here. Take a deep breath and tell me what's wrong." _Santana's voice isn't irritated nor demanding, just concerned.

"I s-saw him and I just-" her sentence is cut off when she sobs loudly. Sitting in the corner of the room with her knees pulled up to her chest is ridiculous. Something a teenager would do, but there's some weird melancholy about the position that makes her feel a little at ease. _God, _she's even starting to sound like Santana now.

"_Saw who? Who's ass do I have to kick?"_

Brittany chuckles through the tears, eyes crinkling. "No-one San, I just," she exhales heavily and tries to calm her sobs. They're minimising, especially with the sound of her girlfriend's voice down the line – but still present. However, Santana always makes her feel better so it won't belong till she's smiling. "I ran into Mike and he just looked so... _sad."_

She dips her head, forehead resting against her kneecap as her thoughts lead away. Sad totally isn't the right word.

_Sad_ implies a child losing it's toy, or a dog having it's bone taken away from it.

_Sad _describes the feeling you get when you see an old person alone at the supermarket, reaching for something they're quite obviously not tall enough to get.

_Sad _is _definitely _not the right word to describe how Mike looked. Devastated would probably be closer to home.

"_Britt, I'm sorry."_

Brittany lifts her head, brows furrowed. "Why are you sorry?"

There's a few seconds of silence before Santana answers. _"It would never have happened if I had got my head out my ass sooner. I just..." _Santana breathes out heavily down the phone and Brittany flinches at the hurt she feels from that simple action. She can practically hear her girlfriend clawing at her head down the phone. If there's one thing people don't know about Santana, is that no matter what façade or expression she puts up, she feels _everything_. Bitch, she may be, but she's definitely not heartless - despite appearances saying otherwise. _"I hate that you have to live with the consequences."_

"Hun," Brittany starts, eyes sliding from side to side as she tries to find the right words to say. "We're both to blame. But I don't care what happened or how long it took or whatever... Because I have you. We're together now and it doesn't matter how many times I see Mike or how devastated he looks, because it's worth every second I spend with you."

Santana laughs lightly down the phone. _"You have no idea how much I love you Brittany Susan Pierce. Despite all your cheesy speeches."_

"Like you can talk about cheesy speeches Miss Five-Smiles," she replies through a grin, curling her arm around her legs.

"_Hey! No fair!"_

Brittany chuckles. "I'm joking, San. I love you, too."

"_Psht," _she can practically hear the eye roll down the line. _"If it weren't for my cheesy speech you wouldn't be saying that, Pierce. That speech got me my girl."_

Who knew two words as insignificant as 'my' and 'girl' combined could make Brittany's insides feel like thousands of glitter bombs just exploded. She smiles sappily, breathing out through her nose and dips her head. Even though Santana's hear doesn't mean she can't blush still.

"_You're blushing."_

Brittany frowns, eyes darting around the room in search for a certain someone. No-one's there, though. Just an empty room and a water cooler in the far right hand corner of the room that keeps randomly bubbling. Creepy.

"How d'you know?"

"_I can hear the blood practically rushing to your cheeks."_

Santana knows her _so _well. "You being all affectionate takes some getting used too, s'all." She shrugs.

"_Well I'm going to be even more affectionate tonight, and not in the down'n'dirty way."_

Excited and intrigued, Brittany grins widely, all previous feelings of guilt dissolving and presses on. "Like a surprise?"

"_You know it, Britt-Britt. Now I gotta go, but please try and avoid Mike. It'll totally ruin tonight."_

"How sensitive of you, San." Brittany licks her lips and dances her fingers along the ridge of her kneecap.

"_S'how I do," _Santana replies in a fake ghetto accent. Brittany's pretty sure she fell in love with a complete dork. It multiplies her feelings by like, a million.

"Bye, San." Brittany rolls her eyes, grinning like a complete idiot.

"_Love you."_

Shaking her head to try and wipe off the ridiculous smile, Brittany presses the phone closer to her lips and whispers, "Love you too," before listening for the grin coming down the phone and hanging up.

* * *

><p>Teaching dancing has always been her passion.<p>

Well, technically, dancing has always been her passion, but she totally loves kids, so combined into a job - it's super awesome. She's managed to avoid Mike the majority of the day, apart from when their classes mixed, but that was just unavoidable. Despite the sheer excitement she feels for her surprise tonight - when it comes to surprises she basically turns into a child - Mike's expressions still manage to strum the strings on her guilt guitar.

She knows why she feels guilty - apart from the obvious reason of her dumping his sweet ass because she was madly in love with her best friend - it's just because someone as good-hearted and pure as Mike shouldn't have sad, sullen eyes that used to sparkle once upon a time. He shouldn't be floundering around to depressing music in the studio, falling to his knees and dropping his head with every last note when he can happily body pop his way through a Flo Rida number.

That's just _not _Mike.

His smile, his charm, his innocence and generally bright aura was the thing that attracted Brittany to him. Without it, it's just like watching a ghost, and she _seriously _hates that because she knows it's all because of her.

Which kind of leads to her next point.

The funny thing is, during their breaks (when she grabs a drink or sits in the corner of the room smiling goofily at her phone because Santana just sent her a _super _dorky text) she hasn't missed the several strange glances Tina's been sending Mike. Sure, there was a rumor way back that Tina had a thing for Mike, but then she started dating one of the single dad's who watched their 'little princesses' dance classes - so Brittany always assumed it was what it was. A rumor.

And it's not like she's jealous, because if there was a word that was the complete _opposite _of jealous, that would be her.

It's just that she kind of feels like she's obligated to bring a smile back to Mike's face considering she was the one that took it away. Of course it'll be awkward, because _yeah, _hello ex-fiancée, but they've got to get over it at some point. Or at least push past it. And if that rumor was indeed true, then maybe Tina is the new path to Mike's happiness. Maybe now instead of an interracial path, there's like some Asian Sensation path that they can hop on and have many Asian babies with.

Then maybe Brittany can get Mike back to what they were before she started dating him. Maybe somewhere along the line, months or years in the future, they can be friends again.

Maybe.

* * *

><p><strong>Apologies for the length. It just seemed appropriate to cut the section out here.<strong>


	26. interlude part two

**I know it's been a while since I've updated, and I do apologise. Had quite a lot of things to do and had a lack of inspiration so I let out pent up fic feelings into unfinished one-shots and so on.**

**So yes, here's the second and last section of Brittany's interlude. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>T<strong>**itle: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Interlude – Part Two]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>7.5k

* * *

><p>The surprise Santana has planned has been playing with her mind for most of the day.<p>

During her classes she's had to have one of the students tug on her sweat pants to grab her attention, because her mind's been somewhere in space. Her feet have practically been tapping to a non existent beat because she's pretty damn excited and a shit-eating grin has been pasted on her face for the majority of the day.

Santana's a romantic and if their relationship has been anything to go by so far, tonight will be amazing.

So when Brittany's returns home to a note stuck to the front door, her heart starts beating rapidly and excitement sends a shudder through her body.

_Great, _now she's nervous.

Picking the note off the door, keys in hand, she scans over it quickly and just sees:

_Kitchen – S xx  
>(p.s. don't turn on the lights)<em>

scribbled on it in swirly writing. She's always loved Santana's writing. It's like her girlfriend took a calligraphy class because her 'S's always have a perfect swirl at the bottom and each letter curves off with a precise flick of the pen. It's nothing to do with a calligraphy set or a class or whatever, Santana's writing is just perfect. Just like Santana.

Sliding the key into the lock, and pushing it open, she inhales deeply and notices the heavy scent of vanilla and honeycomb (maybe?) in the air.

Candles, she thinks.

Her keys drop to the side table and she narrows her eyes, noticing the dim glow coming from the kitchen down the small hallway and the darkness of the living room. Her nerves start tingling insistently as she kicks off her boots and makes her way towards the kitchen, clutching the hem of her t-shirt and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"San?" she calls out, switching to nibble at her top lip as she steps into the doorway of the kitchen.

Then there's Santana, leaning over the kitchen table, lighting the last of the millions of candles darted around the room. None of the lights are on, not even the little side lamp in the corner of the room. Just pure candlelight. There's candles on the counter tops, on the table, on the shelves... They're _everywhere _and up until now, Brittany never knew a kitchen could be such a romantic setting.

A gasp catches in her throat and she smiles, feeling her eyes lighten up as Santana lifts her gaze to stare into blue. Santana straightens up, places the matches beside the newly lit candle and walks over to Brittany, grabbing her hands and swinging them between their bodies.

"Hi," Santana breathes, nervousness etching across her face.

"Hi," Brittany chuckles, eyes darting between melted chocolate orbs and the dinner table with plates and cutlery set out for two. This time she notices a pack of cards sitting in the centre and furrows her brows. "Whatcha doing?"

"I just thought we could-" Santana stutters, throwing a glance over her shoulder and back. "Seeing as we didn't have Valentines Da-," she hangs her head , shaking from side to side as a nervous chuckle escapes her lips. "This is totally corny, isn't it?"

Heart fluttering, Brittany brings one of their hands up to tilt her girlfriend's head up. "No," she replies honestly. Because even though in movies when this happens, yeah, it's _totally _corny and cliché, this is ridiculously romantic and she may have just fallen a little bit more in love. "It's lovely."

"Really?" There's flashes of hope and excitement behind brown eyes. "You like it?"

Brittany giggles and nods. "I love it."

"Thank God," Santana laughs, obviously trying not to flush. "Now come and sit down. Food'll get cold."

Santana turns, but feeling all jiggly and light inside, Brittany tugs on her girlfriend's wrist, pulling until their bodies press together and she's smiling at Santana with unprecedented adoration. Her eyes flicker between pouty lips and creamy chocolate eyes before biting on her bottom lip and rubbing her thumb over the back of Santana's knuckles. They don't need to verbalise what both of them are thinking, or want for that matter, because the stupid smiles say enough.

A flutter of movement later, and they're kissing softly and sweetly. Brittany opens her mouth first, needing more and instantly tastes Santana's sweet tang on her tongue. Breathing out a pleased sigh she circles Santana's neck when a tongue brushes against her own and moves closer until hands find her hips and then they're making out in the middle of kitchen, all regards for the temperature of the food flown out the window.

It's not hot, it's not full of lust or on the path to naked, intertwined bodies... It's just two people, madly in love, kissing in the moment. Marvelling in the way their lips brush against one another and how ridiculously easy this transformation from best friends to lovers has been. Almost as if they have been together all along.

She smiles into the kiss, nose nudging against Santana's cheek as the need for oxygen becomes too much and then they break, panting and eyes fluttering as they try to regain the ability to stand straight again.

Kissing Santana always makes her head spin.

Santana sucks in her lips, eyes still shut and a smile etching across her face as she clears her throat. Brittany tilts her head - apparently she's not the only one who gets dizzy from kissing.

About seven seconds later, Santana cracks open her eyes and grins widely. "Dinner?" she says, her voice a little raspy as her thumbs make circular motions across Brittany's hipbones.

"Dinner," Brittany parrots, leaning down to kissing her girlfriend deeply one more time before being led towards the table.

* * *

><p>Several times Brittany's asked about the pack of playing cards in the centre of the table. There's nothing fancy about them, they just look like any regular pack of cards you can buy from the supermarket for a dollar or two. But considering Santana made a three course dinner consisting of bruschetta, spaghetti and meatballs and then strawberries and cream for dessert, a pack of cards doesn't really fit into the romantic side of the evening.<p>

Throughout their meal, their chairs have been edging closer and closer together, and know they're sitting either side of the corner of the table, knees touching and intertwined fingers resting on the table top. Brittany now leans forward, taking the strawberry Santana's offering out between her teeth, making sure the edge lips brushes over the tips of her girlfriend's fingers (because she's a tease like that), she swallows gratefully and licks the remaining cream off her lips. She hums appreciatively, grinning when Santana's eyes don't stop staring at her mouth and giggles.

"Hmm," Brittany hums again. "I love strawberries."

Santana shakes herself out her stupor and looks up to connect their eyes. "Totally," she breathes out like she's a little distracted before leaning in.

Their lips fit together perfectly, and much to Brittany's delight, Santana coaxes her mouth open and curls her hand around the nape of Brittany's neck so stroke deeply and slowly with her tongue. A shudder surges down her spine and back up again and her entire body vibrates with pleasure because kissing has just another thing that Santana's perfected.

"You taste like strawberries," Santana whispers against swollen lips as they pull apart.

Brittany combs her fingers through dark brown locks. "That could be because I just ate strawberries," she replies playfully, scrunching her nose up.

"Shut up smart ass," Santana says before taking Brittany's bottom lip between hers and sucking lightly. Rolling her eyes into the back of her brain, Brittany groans and smiles against the kiss, trying not to ruin the moment by reaching down and attempting to suggest a certain release for the dull throb between her legs.

Santana pulls away just in time though, smiling triumphantly and sending a quick wink. "Now, for the finale."

"Finale?"

"Yeah," the brunette replies, trailing her hand down Brittany's shoulder and bicep until their fingers can thread together. "Playing cards time."

Brittany grins widely and watches as Santana reaches over to grab the card, twisting around and then returning. Brown eyes flash with anticipation and Brittany lets out a long exhale as she watches her girlfriend get all nervous. Santana nervous is seriously adorable.

"Now I have these cards, I'm realising just how stupid and cheesy this is," Santana breathes out through a laugh.

"You're always cheesy," Brittany replies, smiling.

"Yeah," Santana agrees. "But this is like _ridiculously _cheesy."

Blue eyes narrow. "Like a four cheese pizza?"

A dazzling smile etches its way across Santana's face as she nods. "Like a four cheese pizza."

They stare at each other adoringly for about thirty seconds before Brittany can't help but grin and then Santana mirrors it and they start giggling because they're so stupidly in love. Her heart flips and it feels like a million butterflies just fluttered inside her stomach because her girlfriend is staring at her with dreamy chocolate eyes and such love that it makes Noah seem like Allie's friend.

Santana looks away first, sucking in a shaky breath with half a head shake. "Instead of making this ten times more corny than it is," she holds out the cards and squeezes her eyes shut. "I'm just going to let you read."

"Read?" Brittany furrows her brows, cautiously taking the playing cards and allowing the tips of her fingers to linger over Santana's. Shuddering, Santana breathes out and her face breaks into a grin, but still, her eyes remain closed.

"Just look."

Slowly, Brittany unthreads their fingers (because doing this with one hand is pretty hard) and peels the lid of the packet up, revealing the cards inside. There are crinkles on flap already, so she assumes Santana already opened the pack, and tips it upside down, nudging it gently with the palm of her other hand to encourage the cards out. They fall out in a wedge and Brittany remains intrigued and nervous as she places the empty packet down on the table and then flips the cards over.

The first card is blank except for a few lines of Santana's writing scribbled in the middle. Her eyes flicker up, meeting brown quickly before Santana ducks her chin to her chest and twiddles her thumbs nervously on her lap. She doesn't ask about the strange reaction, instead returning to the card and scanning the few words on it.

_52 reasons why I love you, Brittany Pierce._

A smile tugs at her lips and she places the card on the table, moving onto the second card. It's an ace of spades and she twists it as her eyes trail around the writing.

_Because you love ducks._

"Because you love ducks," Santana reads out the words as Brittany's mind processes them and they both gaze lets out long exhales and share a small smile.

"You know these?"

Santana shrugs, lightly. "Well, yeah-"

Brittany leans forward, cutting the words off as she presses a long, languid kiss to her girlfriends lips. Breaking apart, she lets out a sigh and glances up, watching Santana's eyes glaze over as they meet brown quickly then flicker back down. Repeating the process, Brittany puts the card on the table and moves to the third. It's a two of clover and she reads it.

_Because you give me a reason to look forward to waking up every morning._

Heart fluttering, she flips through the cards and reads every single one (with the aid of Santana mouthing along to every one, which just makes her fall in love even more because Santana can actually recite the reasons by heart).

By the time she reaches the last two, her eyes are streaming and it's like a friggin' river is flowing down her face. Santana began to wipe away the tears at card number five, but gave up when card thirty came around because it said _'because you were definitely worth the wait' _at which point they _both _started crying and there was no point in wiping away tears that were being replaced barely a second later.

Card forty five said _'because you can actually put up with my occasional emotional outbursts' _in which she let out a giggle through tears and said "occasional?" which led to a series of small kisses tasting of love, salt and future promises.

So now, trying to compose herself and not just spring on Santana and just kiss her senseless, murmuring a small _thank you_ as their lips brush against one another, she flips over card fifty one and reads it slowly, wondering how long it took Santana to do this.

_Because there's no reason not too._

She's about to say something when Santana reaches over, cups her face and lifts until their looking into each other's eyes.

"Not yet," Santana says, eyes reddened from the tears. "Read the last one first."

Brittany obeys, leaning in and nudging Santana's nose with her own until their lips ghost over each other in a barely-there kiss. Stomach flipping, she lingers, trying to suck in much-needed breaths as she's still crying, and presses her mouth to Santana's softly and quickly – making sure to convey everything she can with a simple kiss.

Card number fifty two doesn't have any writing on it when she looks at it. Flipping it over, she searches for any black scribblings and then gives up when she's checked over it at least four times. Quizzical, and confused, she looks up and into brown eyes. "What's this one?"

Santana's eyes flutter shut as she breathes in deeply. Sucking in her lips, she lifts a hand and taps the corner of the card, signalling Brittany to look down. It's only now that Brittany realises what card this one is, and it's like the world just got served to her on a silver platter when she finally gets what it means.

"Because this is what you are to me," Santana says, cracking open her eyes.

"It's the Queen of Hearts," Brittany says quietly, because she can't almost believe it herself. Not just that Santana loves her this much, but because every single second she spends with Santana, it amazes her that she falls even more in love than before. Even when she didn't think that was a possibility.

"Because you're the Queen of my heart."

It rips the breath straight from Brittany and she can't control the new wave of tears that prick at her eyelids. Santana's staring at her nervously, hope flashing across her eyes and all Brittany can do is suck in her lips and tilt her head, blinking furiously as the tears begin to fall rapidly once more.

"I l-love y-you so much," Brittany declares because she's never said anything truer.

Santana whispers "I love you more" before kissing her deeply, because actions speak louder than words.

* * *

><p>Her lips warm and slow against Santana's mouth. It's good. It's quite. It's intimate and full of love. Adoration lingers around them like a cloud and Santana's hands have long lifted Brittany out her seat, tugging until she's straddling her girlfriend, legs dangling off the side of the chair and arms tightly wrapped around Santana's neck.<p>

Brittany doesn't know how long they've been sitting there, wrapped up in each other and kissing deeply. But whatever, she doesn't care. All she cares about is Santana's tongue pushing past her lips, dipping into her mouth and curling around her teeth. All she cares about is this moment, this connection that they have, and have had for longer than either of them thought. All she cares about is Santana. That's it.

When she untangles her fingers from dark locks, Brittany lightly grazes her nails down Santana's neck and smiles into the kiss when a whimper vibrates into her mouth.

"You're kind of like, the best girlfriend ever." Brittany says breathlessly, fingers dancing across Santana's collarbone.

Open mouthed kisses are pressed to the expanse of her neck. "I would've been better," Santana mumbles into her skin. "But I only had enough to buy one pack of cards after buying dinner," she shrugs, trailing her kisses up to the curve of Brittany's jaw. "Although I do have about 147 more reasons written down on a piece of paper in your side table."

Brittany lets out a small chuckle, shuddering when a tongue swipes at her pulse point. "Oh, y-yeah?"

"Uh huh," she hears next to her ear as a tongue darts out to flick at her earlobe, hands caressing down her back until they reach the curve of her ass. "Wanna see?"

She doesn't even get a chance to respond as Santana pushes out the chair, and she instinctively presses closer, wrapping her legs around her girlfriend's waist and tightening the grip around a caramel neck. She buries her face into the crook of her elbow, giggling at the unknown strength Santana seems to have. This position probably looks ridiculously considering Brittany's about two or three inches taller, but who cares?

They make their way into the bedroom and Brittany bites her lip, confused. "I thought we weren't being affectionate in the 'down'n'dirty' way?"

Santana smirks up at her repeated words. "We're not."

Confusion pulses through her. Especially when Santana sets a knee on the comforter and tilts until Brittany feels her back meet a cushioned comforter, body pressing against another.

"This is where you're getting changed, baby." Santana mumbles, leaning down until their lips barely brush before pulling and standing up between the other girls legs. "Get changed into something comfortable, and not in the sexy lingerie I know you have in your bottom drawer."

Brittany's mouth drops open. "Snooping through my drawers, pervert?"

"I needed some socks," Santana reasons as she leans back down to peck at her lips. "Now get changed into something warm and meet me in the living room in ten."

"Why do I need to get changed into something warm?" She traces her finger in a circle on the top of the comforter, her other hand grasping Santana's bicep to keep her anchored. "Can't you just warm me up?"

A low groan escapes pouty lips and Santana presses down again, this time with her hips and kisses her hungrily. Tongue meeting tongue, they sensually caress for a long moment before it breaks and Santana's by the door before Brittany can protest.

"I will do. Just not now. Now you need to get into jeans, a baggy sweatshirt and double socks. Warmy woots."

Brittany chuckles, unconsciously parting her legs as if she's offering something with causes a twinkle to form in her eye. "I'd prefer to be warm with you wrapped around me," she says seductively. Shocked by her own tone.

Yet Santana's still holding back. Despite the visibly growing bulge in her jeans. "Changed now. Living room ten," she says before disappearing out the door.

Brittany throws her head back and lets out a loud huff.

* * *

><p>Brittany bounds out the bedroom with an old pair of jeans on, Santana's college sweatshirt and her hair wild around her shoulders.<p>

"At least tell me where we're going."

The other girl shakes her head, sliding her arms around Brittany's waist and pulling when they get close enough.

"Nope," Santana grins, nuzzling their noses together. "It's a surprise."

She likes surprises, but she thought she had it already. The only downside to having a childish personality is that whilst yes, she does love surprises and being treated to things, she kind of gets impatient quickly. Not to mention the strops she pulls. Nah, that's not true. Although the summer of 2012 in the grocery store on 4th street would prove different. In all fairness though, Santana refused to buy her the chocolate duck because apparently the money was specifically for orange juice.

However, now that she and Santana are together, she can use her pout to get just about anything she wants. Actually, come to think of it, the 'together' part isn't entirely true. She's always been able to get Santana to do things with a single jut of her lower lip. It's like Santana's kryptonite.

"Please, baby?" Brittany flutters her lashes and threads their fingers together. Not quite sure the pout should be revealed. "Tell me?"

Santana's eyes soften. "It's supposed to be a surprise, Britt."

"Please," she draws out the word.

But Santana's face remains the same, although behind brown eyes, Brittany can totally see the resolve crumbling with every word. Might as well skip to the good stuff. Breathing in deeply, making sure to heave her chest higher than usual so when she exhales it moulds against the other girls, she pulls out the puppy eyes and pout.

"San..." It's practically a whine.

Santana's mouth drops open to protest, but Brittany breathes out and feels her entire body melt into her girlfriend's until their bodies are indefinable. Leaning in, she pauses a second before their lips touch and searches brown eyes with blue, trying to seduce the other girl further because it never fails.

Sometimes Santana is so transparent.

"Please tell me where we're going?"

"Britt... we're going too..." It comes out through a long exhale and a smirk crawls across Brittany's face. Except she totally isn't expecting what comes next.

"The garage."

Brittany's head jerks back. "The garage?"

"Yeah, it's a few blocks away." Santana tangles their fingers together and leads them out the door.

Brittany doesn't know what the hell is going on or where she's going. But with Santana by her side, she doesn't even care.

* * *

><p>"Since when did you have a car?" Brittany tilts her head to the side, confused.<p>

She knew that Santana had a car once, but she could've sworn that her mom sold it back in college after she ran out of money for 'the mortgage.' Both of them knew that was like a code word for alcohol. But neither said anything. Santana just held her head high and a week later she came bursting through Brittany's dorm room door with tears streaming down her face and _I hate her, I hate her _repeating through salt-stained lips.

Nothing more was ever said about that night.

But now they're standing beside a Suzuki Samurai. One of those cars that you see in movies where there's deserts all around or thick mud on the ground. It's a 4x4 and it has a convertible roof. There's only two doors, unless the boot counts as one, and two seats folded down behind the front ones to make room for a boot.

"Bitch took my car away," Santana flips the keys in her hand and winks. "So I take hers away."

Brittany lets out a chuckle. "San!"

"What goes around comes around."

They both slide into the car, heat blowing through the air vents as soon as Santana switches the ignition on. Brittany turns down the temperature whilst the other girl leans over, throwing their big ass bags into the makeshift boot. She did wonder about the size of the bags, considering she hadn't actually noticed anything missing when she got changed. Anyway, putting her seatbelt on, Brittany clasps her hands together and rests them on her bobbing knees. Half-nervous and half-excited.

Santana reaches over, and Brittany instantly glances towards her girlfriend, meeting dreamy chocolate eyes and melting immediately.

"Why are you nervous?"

"I'm more excited than nervous," Brittany admits.

"Yeah," Santana smiles. "But you're still nervous?"

Brittany doesn't actually know why she's nervous. Maybe it's because this is the first time they've outwardly done something together since they've been a couple that _isn't _inside her apartment. Maybe it's because Santana has this hopeful flash that keeps beaming across her eyes and causes butterflies to form inside Brittany's stomach. Or maybe it's because this _technically_ is their first date, and no matter where they're going, they're going together. And that's pretty much it.

"Not anymore." Brittany says honestly, threading her fingers through caramel ones and leaning forward. An inch away from Santana's lips she repeats herself again and presses their lips together, lifting her free hand to cup at her girlfriend's neck to deepen the kiss.

They don't actually leave the garage for a good ten minutes.

* * *

><p>After having her hand slapped away after she reached for a bulge in Santana's pants, Brittany broke the kiss and settled back into her seat, arms crossed. The other girl just murmured "time for that later, baby" and kissed her once more before taking off towards the unknown.<p>

So far they've headed out of New York City, over Roosevelt Island and up past LaGuardia Airport. Just before she reached the airport, her stomach jolted and flipped with the possibility that maybe Santana was taking her somewhere that required a plane. But considering she hadn't packed anything and she wasn't even sure she had her phone charger or a change of clothes, she hoped that wasn't the case. And thank God it wasn't.

Not that she would've minded if Santana whisked her away to say, Hawaii or whatever.

They head over the Bronx Whitestone Bridge and into more rural areas and she begins to think back to the summers she spent with her family on holiday, camping. They were amazing times. Times which probably shouldn't have been as enjoyable as they were too a thirteen year old. Although, now as she thinks about it, Santana was there for the majority of the holiday's. So that could've been the reason why she was never down and gloomy like most of her friends had been (according to their Facebook status).

Brittany turns her head. The back of it pressed against the headrest. "Do you remember all those holiday's we used to go on with my family?"

"Yeah, baby." A smile tugs at Santana's lips and Brittany reaches across to take the other girl's hand, lacing there fingers and dropping to rest it on the centre console.

"Where my dad would always burn the marshmallows..." Brittany's voice tinges with nostalgia and she sighs. "And we'd have to use the lake to wash even though it would always make us a little dirtier than before."

Santana chuckles, squeezing their fingers. "And your mom would always hand us that big towel to share. The ones with 101 dalmatians on it?"

"Oh my God!" Brittany exclaims, bringing her free hand up to cover her mouth.

They both giggle at the memory, but there's a distinct sadness lacking in the air. Brittany hasn't seen her family in nearly a year, and the only news she's heard from them recently is that her dad keeps having up and down days. One day he'll be jolly and able to walk. The next day he'll just be lounging around in bed, grumbling into the pillow. It's a selfish thought, and she hates that it actually ever slid into her mind. But she's glad she isn't around him. She can't bare seen anyone hurt. Let alone her own father. All she would do if she were with him was cry, and that wouldn't be good for anyone.

Out of her family, she'd definitely be the least helpful. Her sister Kale would be the best though Ten years younger or not, she can still sure as hell take better care of her family than Brittany ever could.

"Sorry, baby." Santana runs her thumb over the back of Brittany's knuckles and sighs.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Brittany tries a smile, but it doesn't convince the other girl.

There's silence for a few minutes, where she knows both of them and flicking through the many memories both of them have about the Pierce family holidays. About the little incidents and accidents that happened. Like Santana falling into a mud pit, age fourteen, when she happened to be dressed up because they were going out for dinner. Or when they snuck off, further away from the tent then they should've done, smoked the blunt Santana stole of one of her mom's hook-ups and then couldn't find their way back.

"Do you remember than one year-" Santana smiles before she can finish her question. "When we were sixteen, and I didn't wanna go because I thought it was lame and-"

"Then you said you'd come the morning before we left?"

Santana nods and Brittany smiles widely. But then her brows furrow when she catches that little spark in brown eyes and she scrunches her face in confusion. "What?"

"What?" Santana repeats, trying to keep her features stoic.

Brittany lifts their hands, poking at a caramel cheek. "That," she trails her finger over the small crease. The _I-know-something-you-don't crease. "_You're not telling me something."

"Well... Do you remember that morning, when I said I wanted to come?"

Brittany nods.

"You know the night before?" Santana smirks, eyes narrowing but still focusing on the road. "We were Skyping and trying out our new video cameras?"

"Yeah..."

Santana lets out a small laugh and brings Brittany's hand up to brush a kiss across the knuckles. "Do you remember how you wanted to 'have one final shower before a week of dirt?'"

Brittany's heart starts to beat faster. "Were you perving on me in the shower?" She giggles nervously.

"Oh, no no." The other girl shakes her head frivolously. "Just before you got in."

Eyes wide, and mouth even wider, Brittany blinks incredulously and some strange murmurs come out her mouth. No actual words. Just little noises that make her sound confused and shocked. Which, she is, so that makes sense. After a few seconds, she manages to kick her brain into gear and slaps her girlfriend's arm playfully with her free hand, releasing the shock she feels.

"San!"

Santana giggles, nose scrunching up as she tries to dodge the pale hand slapping at her arm. "I'm sorry!" It doesn't even sound convincing. "Well I'm not," her eyes flicker to the right. "But I am that I didn't tell you."

"You're such a little pervert!" Brittany half-yells, only because she's embarrassed and still giggling from the emotion. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"What? Tell you that you had awesome boobs and you gave me a boner that didn't even go down with a cold shower?"

Brittany's mouth drops a little more as the blood pulses up to her cheeks. She probably looks like a friggin' tomato.

"Why did you look!"

A dark brow arches. "Why _wouldn't _I look?" Santana shrugs. "Plus I've seen it anyway."

"Yeah," Brittany agrees sarcastically. "_Now _you have. But I had a boyfriend back then!"

"Who wouldn't have been very happy that your best friend saw your boobs," the other girl points out, grinning widely. "So all in all, it was better you didn't know because then you wouldn't have felt guilty for not telling him."

Her mind races back to the summer of 2010. The year she had her first proper relationship with Jason Wells, and the year she had some weird ass growth spurt which made her boobs jump to a DD and muscles tighten so her body was more toned.

* * *

><p><em>They'd been swimming in the lake for the past hour, and since then the sun had gone down and a chill had tinged the air. <em>

_After several calls from her mom, she decided that now was probably a good time to head back up to the camp and clamber back into the tent to warm themselves up before dinner. However as she climbed out the lake, clad in only a skimpy yellow bikini, she noticed the lack of best friend around her and froze. _

_Admittedly thousands of thoughts like piranha's eating Santana or weeds tangling around Santana's foot did pass through her mind. But obviously, they were far fetched, and as soon as she turned around she found her best friend still in the water from the waist down. Santana's face was blank. Eyes wide and face expressionless as she was focused straight on Brittany._

_For a few fleeting seconds, she did glance down at herself, wondering if there was a crab or a leech or something on her, but after twisting around and inspecting every visible inch of herself, she found nothing. Which just confused her more._

"_San?" she called, trying to snap the other girl out the weird stupor. "San, we need to get out."_

_Santana shook her head. Mind snapping back into action. "Huh?"_

"_We need to head back up to camp," Brittany took a few steps back into the water. The sand covering her feet washing away instantly. "My mom called."_

"_Oh, right."_

_Confused, and intrigued, Brittany waited in the same position until Santana was only inches away staring up at her with equal emotions. _

"_What?" Santana asked, like Brittany had just been the one standing in the water with a strange look on her face. "What's wrong?"_

"_Why were you just standing there?" Her eyes flickered down to her feet. "Do I have something stuck to me?"_

_Santana shook her head, offering out her wrinkled palms. "Nope. You just surprised me when you got out," she shrugs. "S'all."_

"_Why?"_

"_You just look really grown up."_

_Brittany arched a brow. "You saw me last night on web cam?" She tried, confused by her best friends words. It was only last night that they tested the BOGOF video cameras they bought. And as far as she knew, hers was working perfectly. So there should've been no reason for Santana not to have seen her._

"_U-uh..." Santana stuttered, averting her gaze to the surroundings as a tinge pinked her ears. "Y-yeah. I was uhm," she cleared her throat. "Focused on something else."_

"_Oh... Right." _

_Brittany narrowed her eyes. Judging by her best friends expression, she was going to get much more out of that. To be honest, as well? She was getting kind of cold and wasn't all that bothered because goosebumps were forming all over her skin. Well, she thought it was the cold anyway. They'd only started appearing when she took Santana's offered out hands. But the weather was cold too. So she just put it down to the chill in the air._

"_Let's go back inside then." _

_Santana bent down, picking up the 101 Dalmatians towel and standing behind Brittany. Shuffling backwards, she felt her best friend press into her, her back to Santana's front, and wrap the towel around their bodies. Grabbing each edge of the towel, she tugged it around her shoulders and focused on not shuddering when palms grazed across her abs and held on tightly. As well as trying her hardest not to notice the way their bodies clicked together perfectly, or how both of their breaths hitched when the curve of Brittany's butt brushed up against the apex of Santana's thighs._

_It was their thing, wrapping up with Santana being the big standing spoon and hobbling awkwardly towards camp after a swim. After the age of eleven, they found it pretty hard to fit in a towel side by side, so after she suggested the new position, and Santana had agreed, they'd just done that._

_For the majority of their holiday, she caught Santana with that exact same look any time she was wearing something relatively skimpy._

* * *

><p>"Oh my God!" Brittany blurts out in realization as the car pulls to a stop. "You were totally perving on me that entire holiday!"<p>

Santana shrugs and smirks, turning in her seat to face her girlfriend. "Seriously, I was _so _surprised you didn't notice. The hardest," she winks, eyes flickering down. "In more than one way, week of my life."

Blue eyes squint quickly as they both laugh, and she's not sure who made the first move, but now they're kissing across the centre. Her hand tangling in dark locks, pulling gently as she runs her tongue along the ridge of the other girl's lip. Moans of appreciations moulding into one as their teeth nip playfully at each other's lips, taking turns and creating a game that neither know how to win. She smiles into the kiss when instead of receiving a graze against her lip, she feels it being soothed with a soft tongue and groans, shuffling further over until she can throw a leg to the right of her girlfriend's hip and straddle Santana.

Hands slide around to the back pockets of her jeans, slipping inside and pulling until there's no space between their bodies. Brittany shudders, grinding down subconsciously as their tongues touch and start caressing each other in such a graceful manner that she was thinking they'd perfected their own oral dance. It gets a little more heated as the kiss deepens, especially when she feels Santana run her hands underneath her top, nails grazing at the skin of her back and then back down again. Because that's like a _major _turn on, and it makes Brittany release her fingers from brown locks and trail down the front of Santana's chest until her fingertips bump against the buckle on her girlfriend's jeans.

Slipping her fingers inside, she hears no sound of rejection or stopping the movement and begins to fumble with it as she feels her girlfriends bulge press against her own clothed sex when Santana bucks up. She's about two seconds away from slipping her hand inside when lights flash through the car, breaking their kiss and making her heart race. Not only from the arousal building within her, but from the adrenaline of being caught acting like horny teenagers, making out and grinding on each other in a way that wouldn't be deemed suitable for children to witness.

"Sometimes I hate their timing," Santana grumbles, throwing her head back against the head rest. "Come on baby, let's get out."

Brittany frowns. She wants to ask who 'their' is, but she's back in her seat before she knows it, and the other girl's grabbing the bags out the back seat and clambering out the car. Curious, she clicks open the door, instantly being greeted with the thick scent of nature and steps out the car. Her feet crunch as they meet gravel and glancing around, she notices that they're in a parking lot. But not any parking lot by the looks of the sign to the far right. A harbour's parking lot.

She rounds the car, palm grazing along the edge of it because it's dark enough that she can't see whether she's about to fall in a pot hole or not. Not to mention she has no idea where she is, or what it's like, so she could step on broken glass or something.

"San?" She calls out, stepping over what looks like a large rock. "Santana?"

Stepping out to look towards the drivers side, she finds Santana standing there, eyes beaming and smile wide as a light flickers on behind her girlfriend. Squinting to adjust to the new light, her eyes land on the source of it and finds a large yacht, the sail's poles covered by white lights and two people standing on the jetty in front of it, beside the board walk leading on to the boat. Her mouth drops open, arms hanging as she watches Santana take steady steps towards her.

Fingers lace between her own almost instantly and Santana glances at her with such adoration that she's pretty sure her heart she skipped a beat. A grateful smile graces her face and she lets out a long exhale. She's so in love with Santana it hurts.

"San, what did you..."

"This isn't all of it," Santana interrupts. "This is just half."

Brittany's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. "W-what?"

Santana just gives her a smile in response before standing beside her, looping her free arm around her .waist and urging them forward. She hears "just trust me" a second before her feet meet the jetty containing the boat and a surge of excitement courses through her when Santana whispers to close her eyes. She obliges after taking in a deep breath.

"You're not going to like, sell me or something are you?"

Santana chuckles next to her as the hand on her back pushes forward until her shoes hit the hard plastic of the boat.

"Definitely not," she hears a second before a brief kiss is pressed to her lips. "You're priceless."

Her heart spins and flutters and tumbles like it's just taken a handful of ecstasy and she tries not to grin like an idiot. But her body rejects the attempt and adds a blush into the mix as she's steered towards something and urged to sit down. As soon as her butt hits a cold, hard seat, she feels Santana climb behind her, and legs dangle either side of her body until her back is pressed against the other girl's front.

"Okay!" She hears Santana call out. "We're good to go!"

The boat rumbles underneath her, and seconds later she feels her body sway when the entire thing moves and begins to sail through the waters. Even though she has no idea where she's going, she has Santana behind her and that's all that really matters.

* * *

><p><strong>Leave a few words to say how I'm doing please?<strong>

**Next up: back to Santana's POV.**


	27. chapter twenty seven

**I'm not sure who, but two people on my Tumblr requested certain things, so I've tried to include them but it was pretty difficult considering the situation. But anyways, yeah, here you go.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>T<strong>**itle: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Twenty Seven]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary<strong>: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>8.1k

* * *

><p>Santana sucks in a shaky breath when the destination finally comes in sight. She's been so fucking nervous about this entire evening that she's having a hard time keeping her cool. So far she's just wrapped her arms around Brittany's waist and rested her chin on her girlfriend's shoulder, breathing in deeply and evenly and marvelling in the warmth emanating from Brittany's body.<p>

But she's still fucking nervous. Even if Brittany's face looks like Christmas just came around again.

Sliding her fingers through her girlfriend's, she squeezes lightly and leans in until her lips ghost over the shell of a cold ear. "Open your eyes, Britt."

Slowly, but surely, she watches as sparkling blue is revealed. Somehow ten-folding in colour and brightness as they fall upon the small island up ahead. A gasp catches in Santana's throat as she anticipates her girlfriends reaction. But as soon as Brittany's body melts into hers and a pink lip is taken between a set of straight, white teeth, Santana knows she's in the clear.

"Oh, San." Brittany breathes out, face softening and a small smile tugging at her lips. "It's beautiful."

Santana chuckles as the roar of the boat engine dies down and then they're just floating towards the edge of the island. It's everything she spent the day preparing. Even if she had her cousin physically do it because he lives closer. The island is small, and the jetty the boat will anchor upon is highlighted with similar lights to the one she had put on the yacht. The walkway is clear, leading up into a small patch of trees where she knows a small camp fire and two tents are eagerly awaiting beyond.

Her eyes slide to the right and she taps Brittany's hand, motioning to get up. As soon as the other girl does, she laces their fingers together again and leads her towards the walkway which Quinn and Rachel are lowering. Brittany doesn't notice them at first, but as soon as she does, Santana's halted by the pause in her girlfriend's movement and she waits.

"Rachel?" Brittany asks incredulously. "Quinn?"

Santana turns, eyes hopeful. "I needed some help," she shrugs. "And apparently Quinn knows how to drive a boat, and Rachel... Well, Quinn wasn't prepared to come here alone with us two love-birds."

Brittany gives her a smile that makes her wonder how she got so damn lucky, and she doesn't care that Quinn and Rachel are waiting for them to leave the boat, or that there's still a lump of the surprise to go. Instead, all she cares about is kissing Brittany and so she does. Stepping forward, brushing her hand along the protrusion of her girlfriends hip with one hand and cupping a cold, creamy cheek with the other, she tilts her head and moves forward slowly until their lips brush against each other softly. Almost as if she's testing the waters.

Brittany lets out a quiet moan, and Santana smiles, nudging her nose up and brushing it against another cold one before their lips meet again in a slightly harder kiss. Hands come up to cup to her cheeks, and she removes her hand to grip onto the opposite side of Brittany's hip to route herself in place. Without it, this kiss will probably make her stumble off the boat and possibly fall into the water. Amusing possibility. But it'd totally ruin the romantic atmosphere.

Reluctantly, she takes a step back, pouting her lips further and leaning in with her head (despite her body moving backwards) to prolong the kiss. Brittany breaks it though, eyes fluttering open and eyebrows creasing in the centre slightly. Santana shakes her head slightly, feeling the after effects of the kiss still shooting through her body as she laces their fingers together and pulls both of them towards the walkway.

* * *

><p>As soon as they make their way past the trees and the camp fire comes into sight, Santana pauses and waits for Brittany's reaction.<p>

"This is amazing, Santana." Brittany breathes in an appreciative manner. Like she did before. "This is so wonderful."

Santana lets out a long exhale, grinning widely and turns her body to snake her arms around Brittany's waist. Pulling their bodies together, she nuzzles their noses and pulls back to press a delicate kiss to the tip. She can feel the appreciation emanating off her girlfriend, and can see the way blue eyes are softening, almost to the point of tears and it just makes Santana fall a little harder.

"Come on," she says, interrupting her thoughts as she leads them towards the small fire pit in the centre. She lowers Brittany's hand until her girlfriend sits down on the small conveniently placed log when they get here and holds up her hand. "Wait here."

She darts around the fire and into the tent to the left. Luckily, she asked her cousin Carlo to separate the tents by at least twenty metres or so (she purposely left out the reason why) so the tents are basically opposite each other anyway. Riffling through the few belongings her cousin already stocked inside the tent, she grabs the bag of marshmallows and two BBQ sticks and heads back outside.

Brittany's just staring at the fire, eyes bright and orange flickering in the depths of the blue. Santana can't stop herself when she lets out a sigh and just stands there to watch. Brittany's beauty shines through one hundred percent when she doesn't try. It's one of the best things about the blonde. She's not like any other girl. She doesn't have to try to look beautiful. It just comes naturally.

"You bought marshmallows with you?"

Santana snaps her head up, breaking her daze in turn. She glances into blue eyes, then down to the bag of treats and back up again. Suddenly, embarrassment creeps up on her and she bites her bottom lip. "I didn't think it was that lame until now."

"It's not," Brittany taps the space beside her. "You're just really adorable."

"S'how we do."

Even though she tries to play it cool, it's pretty obvious she's blushing. Brittany cups her cheek, twisting until their facing each other and leans forward to press their lips together. It's brief, but it still makes Santana's eyes roll into the back of her head.

"_Hmm..._" she hums in appreciation, smiling with her eyes shut as they pull away. "Right," she cracks open her eyes and her grin doubles as they lock with bright blue. "Marshmallow time."

Brittany bites her bottom lip and nods before repeating, "Marshmallow time."

* * *

><p>"Do you know what that constellation is?"<p>

Twenty seven marshmallows and two very full and sickly feeling stomach's later, they're lying on a blanket on the grass, staring up at the sky. Santana's leaning back on one elbow, half-propped up with the other arm straightened out, pointing at a cluster of stars gathered in the dark canvas of the night sky. Brittany's in between her legs, leaning her back into Santana's chest and staring up at the highlighted destination with furrowed brows.

"Nope," Brittany replies, interested. "Do you?"

Santana lets out a small chuckle and drops her hand to lace their fingers together carefully. Her wrist is still a little tender, even with the bloody great cast around it.

"Nope," she leans in, pressing a kiss to the space below Brittany's ear. "That's why I asked you."

Brittany giggles and then turns around, nudging Santana's thighs apart further until she can lay on her stomach between them, resting her hands on covered abs and a chin on top of that. Santana lays back instinctively, curling one arm to rest her head on so she can peer down at her girlfriend whilst the other hand combs lightly through blonde locks.

"You're such a dork," Brittany says, scrunching up her nose. "I thought you'd be all romantic with naming stars."

Santana shrugs, grinning. "I was going too," her fingers run to the end of blonde locks and pause to toy with them. "But then I remembered that I can't speak Latin for shit and decided not too."

"Such a romantic," the other girl coos, sarcastically.

"Apologies, m'lady. Is this evening not enough?"

Brittany widens her eyes, mouth dropping open to protest. "N-no Sa-"

"I'm kidding baby," Santana cups a creamy cheek and rubs her thumb over the smooth skin.

She almost loses herself in blue eyes that sparkle delicately as they stare back at her. Brittany ducks her head, embarrassed, probably noticing the effect she has on Santana and begins to toy with the zipper on her girlfriend's jacket. The air is cool, not spine-chillingly so, but the warmth that spreads over her body from Brittany's simple touch is almost scorching. Her legs tense as the tip of Brittany's finger dips underneath the fabric and traces an invisible line down the centre of her abs. Judging by the smirk that tugs at pink lips, she's pretty sure Brittany can feel her muscles tensing.

"Thank you," Brittany whispers, and Santana just watches her girlfriend's face following her movements. "For tonight," blue flickers up and locks with brown. "It's been amazing."

Santana feels a small smile pull at her lips. "You're welcome. I just..." She trails off because she's not entirely sure how to phrase the next sentence. It's not like it's going to offend Brittany, it's just a sore subject and now that she's started it she can't go back... So she'll have to finish it. But still, she doesn't know quite how to phrase it. "... I wanted to do something that meant more to you than just us."

Brittany arches a brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she sits up, hands reaching for Brittany to tug up until Brittany's sitting on her lap. "When you were talking about us going camping with your family earlier I just-" she dips her head, shaking slightly. She's not one hundred percent sure how to say this. "I wanted to do something that would remind you of all the people that love you, and of how we, like, as a couple, developed to get to where we are now."

It doesn't actually make that much sense, but she's pretty sure Brittany understands because the blonde shuffles, crawling until thighs are bracketing her hips properly and Brittany's hovering above her, nudging their noses together and grinding her body down.

"Thank you," Brittany whispers, lacing their fingers together beside Santana's head as she's now laying down. "You're amazing."

Santana smiles and leans up to kiss Brittany, but the blonde beats her too it, dragging her bottom lip between her own and sucking lightly. Drawing out all of the feelings that linger between them both. The fingers laced with her right hand release, drifting down to tangle into dark locks as their heads tilt and the kiss deepens slightly. Moans vibrating into mouths and tongues teasingly swiping across tongues. With her free hand, she moves it to rest on the other girl's thigh and grazes up, allowing the tips of her fingers to curl in further than she should towards the heat she can feel between Brittany's legs.

"If you wouldn't mind, could you two keep the moans down over there?"

The kiss breaks, and Santana throws herself back, head resting against the blanket to stare at the sky. Brittany lets out a small chuckle and leans back to sit on Santana's thighs, running her hands through her hair. Trust fucking Berry to interrupt their moment.

"This is all very romantic, but I would appreciate if you kept it PG-13." Rachel pokes the fire with a stick whilst Quinn giggles from behind her. "Quinn and I are trying to have a lovely evening too."

Biting back the urge to tell the dwarf to back off, Santana sucks in her lips and smiles up at Brittany. "Whatever, Berry. This is _our _evening."

"Well if you were qualified to handle a fourteen foot yacht then I wouldn't have to be here."

Santana lets out a sigh and shakes her head. Since Rachel and Quinn moved in together, the hobbit has grown some serious cajones and it's kind of grating on Santana. Especially when Quinn slaps her round the head for insulting Rachel. Seriously, what's she supposed to do when Rachel insults _her_? Just sit there and do nothing? _As if._

"You're boring me, Berry." Santana runs her hands up Brittany's thighs until she can grip at her hips. "You're just jealous because my girl's hotter than yours."

She hears Rachel gasp from the corner, but it's quickly stopped when Quinn whispers something along the line of "don't listen to her." Santana just rolls her eyes, before fixating them on the slither of skin showing between Brittany's jeans and sweatshirt. All the moisture in her mouth drains, blood rushing to form a bulge in her jeans and she grins widely. Because, _yeah, _she _totally _has the hotter girlfriend.

"Wanna go to bed?" Santana asks, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Brittany nods frantically, practically lurching off the other girl and tugging her up to lead them towards the tent. Santana throws Rachel a quick wink before she zips up the tent door and whispers, "You might wanna put some headphones in. It's gonna get _loud._"

The expression on Rachel's face is totally worth the arm slap she gets from Brittany.

Rachel turns to Quinn, brow arched. "They're not actually going too are they?"

"No, babe." Quinn presses her lips to the crown of her girlfriend's head when Rachel relaxes and squeezes her tighter against her own body. "But out of curiosity, do we have any headphones?"

Rachel whips her head around, revealing her mouth gaped open and eyes wide. She hears Brittany giggle and say _"San!"_ from inside the tent then they're both left staring at each other.

* * *

><p>"San..." Brittany props herself up on her elbow.<p>

Santana stares up at her girlfriend, reaching to brush a stray lock behind a pale ear. "Britt..." she repeats in the same tone, earning a smile that makes her insides flutter.

"Can I ask you something?"

Not sensing any underlying worry or uncertainty in the other girl's tone, Santana nods. "Course."

"Do you ever want to get married again?"

She feels her entire body tense, fingers pausing at the crook of a creamy elbow. Slowly, she lifts her eyes to meet with blues and sees the sheer concern she missed in Brittany's tone. It makes panic flutter throughout her body. Clearing her throat, she props herself up onto her elbows until her face is merely inches away from the other girl's and she tilts her head.

"Why are you asking me this?" Her brow cocks as the words come out.

Brittany stills, breath catching. "Is that a no?"

Santana shakes her head furiously. Because she knows that it isn't. A negative response didn't even pass through her mind when Brittany first asked the question. "No... I'm just curious."

Brittany shrugs then slowly falls back until her back hits the camping mat they're lying on. "It's just..." she trails off and Santana is suddenly hyper aware of how blue eyes are glossing over, and a pink lip is worried nervously between pearly white teeth. "I don't want our future to be compromised because of what Sophie did to you."

Reaching over, Santana slides her hand up her girlfriend's side, fingertips brushing over hot, soft skin and up to trace the dip in Brittany's abs. She sucks in a deep breath and shakes her head, ignoring the speed at which her heart is beating.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Britt..."

Brittany sucks in a sharp, shaky breath.

"... My first thought when I was signing those divorce papers was that I never wanted to put myself in a position again where that was a possibility." She feels Brittany's muscles tense underneath her touch as she runs her fingers along the protruding ribcage.

"But now that I'm with _you_," she spares a glance up, meeting dark blue eyes which are gleaming down at her with complete hope. "I think anything is possible."

A grin the size of Jupiter spreads across Brittany's face and Santana doesn't need to say anything else, only cocking her brow knowingly and offering a half shrug. Hands grab at her biceps, tugging and rolling her until she's comfortably settled between strong thighs and then they're kissing, soft, sweet and slow. Undeniably soft lips brushing against her own with ease and familiarity, and it just makes her heart race even faster than before.

"I love you," is mumbled between kisses, intertwining with low groans as Santana slides her hand up the side of Brittany's (technically hers) sweatshirt and underneath the curve of the girl's breast. She smiles into the kiss when the body beneath her shudders and breaks the kiss, tipping forwards until their foreheads touch and they're staring into each other's eyes deeply.

She does wonder how they got through so many years of friendship without knowing this. _This _miracle, or blessing, or God given giftbetween them. This spark, this love, this adoration... That they didn't know it existed. For all those years, she thought that she already had the best thing in the world. The most amazing best friend anyone could ever ask for. But she was so _wrong. _

All those times they spent together on their birthday's, at Christmas, at each other's houses... All those times where they'd ramble on about their stupid crushes on Judy What's-her-name and Dan Who-Gives-A-Crap... All those times they talked about their six month long relationships that would never last any longer... They were just wasted hours when they could have cherished their time together.

Not that she doesn't love it now. Because with the years, they've gained the experience to know what's real and what isn't. And now, she can confidently say _both _of them know how fake every other relationship was in comparison to this. How they were deluding themselves into thinking there was something out there better for them than each other.

As those thoughts pass through her mind, suddenly something pops up and she unzips the sleeping bag, rolls off Brittany and reaches for her duffel on the other side of the tent.

"Where are you going?" Brittany asks, looking rather confused and baffled by the sudden movement.

With shaky hands, Santana lifts the small package she has stored in the back pocket of the duffel and clasps it tightly to her chest. She twists, allowing only her profile to be seen as her eyes slide to the left to gage Brittany's expression. She feels really friggin' stupid right now. Kind of like she's in high school about to ask someone to the prom. Except it's _so _much bigger than that.

"What are you doing?"

A blush creeps onto her cheeks, dusting them with a dark shade of red as she tries to think of all the different ways to do this. There are probably hundreds of methods. But with her nerves and her lack of focus to think of anything else apart from the box clasped between her hands, none come to mind apart from the straight out shove-it-into-Brittany's-hands-and-hide route.

So she does just that.

Brittany gasps as the object falls onto her lap, and shuffles into a sitting position. Santana remains in the same place, face probably red with embarrassment and knees nervously bobbing up and down. There's only about half a metre gap between her and Brittany, but to them that's like a mile. And she can hear the uncertainty tainting her girlfriend's voice when it says;

"Santana, turn around."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she swivels on her butt, folding her legs to cross them underneath her as she faces the other girl. Their kneecaps brush together where they're sitting in a similar position and Santana drums her fingers against the ridge of her shin bone. In any hope of calming her racing heart. A finger brushes underneath her chin and she cracks open an eye slightly, immediately locking onto the small box in Brittany's lap and then up to quizzical blue.

"What's this?" Brittany whispers, almost like it's a secret. But her eyes are so bright and beaming that Santana almost feels guilty because she can see where the trace between their previous conversation and the gift could've come.

So she gulps, throat thickening by the second. "It's not what you think it is."

Even though Brittany tries to hide the fall in her face by tucking her chin to her chest, Santana still sees it. So she quickly corrects herself.

"But it kind of is."

Brittany tilts her head to the side, eyes flitting up. Santana can feel the heat building around her the collar of her hoodie and runs finger along it, tugging it out a bit before it sinks back into place. There's a certain sparkle in blue eyes that tells her that Brittany's excited, and it makes her stomach flip .

"What is i-"

Losing her nerve, and her own finger drumming becoming increasingly annoying, Santana cuts the other girl off. "Just open it."

She looks away as soon as she hears the creak of the box, and almost curses that she took the birthday wrapping off. But then again, it would have looked a bit strange to hand it to Brittany like a month after her birthday. What kind of a best friend would do that? A sharp gasp sounds through the tent and she winces, unsure of what to expect. Oh God, what if Brittany doesn't like it?

"Santana..." Brittany whispers in a tone that Santana can't quite decipher. It's thick with something unrecognisable. "This is..."

Throwing herself into panic mode, Santana's mouth drops open and she goes to say _itwasstupidohmygoddon'tleaveme_ or something along those lines, but it snaps shut when she feels hands grab at her biceps, tugging and their bodies rolling until she fits in between strong thighs. She looks down into bright blue eyes, meeting them for a split second before lips press against her own, kissing her slowly and dragging it out until she can barely feel her legs.

Pulling away and breathing unevenly, Brittany swallows, runs her thumb underneath Santana's bottom lip and whispers; "The bracelet is amazing."

Still dazed by the kiss, Santana says, "Yeah?" breathlessly and tips until their foreheads rest against each other. They both know it's not a promise ring... Or an engagement ring. It's not even a damn ring. But it still signifies the intensity of the love they feel for each other and how this piece of silver jewellery is a silent _we're going to be together, forever. _Especially including the engraving on the inside of the heart. It's like when two teenagers carve their names into a tree trunk, where it remains forever. Obviously it's not that, but it kind of resembles it.

And considering Brittany's staring at her with unabashed hope and a sparkle in her eyes that Santana can only think to be eternal love, Brittany gets the symbolism.

"Amazing," the other girl repeats, a second before their lips meet again.

They kiss lazily for long moments, tongues sweeping past lips and tracing the contours of each other's mouths. Santana smiles into the kiss, feeling her cheeks warm up with the close proximity and the intimacy she's sharing with her girlfriend. She strokes gently up Brittany's ribs, silently revelling in the warm skin underneath her fingers as she brushes her thumb along the underside of the other girls breast, working it's way up until she reaches a hardened nub.

Brittany arches into the touch, the kiss breaking momentarily as she gasps into the tent. Santana grins, eyes trained on the way her girlfriend reacts to her simple touch. Her stomach flips with the mere thought of it. Her thoughts are interrupted when fingers glide up her collarbone, around to her neck where they pull until Brittany's lips press against her own again and then they're kissing hotly. All tongue, barely an finesse and hips involuntarily grinding and rolling into each other.

Santana tenses when she hears a shuffling and a giggle from outside. She's barely aware of the noise because she's between her incredibly sexy girlfriend's thighs and she's pretty sure they were going somewhere with this... But her mood drops when she realizes the whole purpose of coming into the tent was to torment Rachel by _pretending _to have sex.

"Sorry," Santana whispers huskily, remembering how much they _can't _have sex. Not with Quinn and Rachel outside. They'd probably listen. Perverts. She drops her forehead to the other girl's shoulder, rolling side to side and trying not to focus on the arousal making her hips move and cock stiffen.

"We can't..." Brittany breathes out unsteadily, still cradling the base of Santana's skull in her hands. "We can't..." she repeats, licking her lips and trying to get her breathing back to a regular pattern. "We can't be loud."

Santana snaps her head up so fast she's pretty sure it just jerked off her neck. Brittany's grinning up at her with a devilish tint in blue eyes and it shoots straight to the pit of her stomach, spiralling and twisting until she feels herself harden even more against her girlfriend's thigh.

"W-what?" She asks, because this kind of thing needs clarification. Not to mention she's pretty sure the expression on her face is somewhere between disbelief and hope. It'll be seriously embarrassing if the thought running through her mind isn't the one Brittany's talking about.

Brittany arches a brow, runs her feet up Santana's calves and cant her hips slightly, biting her lip the entire time. "Well we can't be loud, can we?"

Mouth drying, Santana gulps loudly and nods. Sometimes Brittany makes her feel like a horny teenage boy. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Brittany's eyes glint evilly and Santana doesn't need anymore words.

She feels hands slide underneath her shirt, skating up her back and nails grazing down lightly as she captures pink lips again. Groaning and hips rolling, she tugs Brittany's bottom lip between her teeth, nipping gently until the noise is mirrored and satisfaction pours through her. Seconds later, Brittany grips the hem of her hoodie and whips it off with one smooth motion, pushing Santana away momentarily to do the same to her own.

Their lips return and they both smile into the kiss, teeth bumping when bare skin meets bare skin. Neither of them were wearing tops underneath and it's kind of some secret sign from the universe saying _you're meant to be together, see? _It's a ridiculous thought, but she can't help but smile even more because of it. What has Brittany done to her?

Hips moving against their own, pressing hard against the apex of her thighs until she muffles a moan into Brittany's mouth because of the friction on her hard length. Heat builds at the nape of her neck as she runs her hands up Brittany's twitching stomach, trailing up slowly until she can slowly massage a perfect breast. Another kind of stupid thing, but Brittany's boobs are totally the right size for her hand. Not too big that she feels like she's grabbing a watermelon, but not small enough to seem like there's half a doughnut in her hand.

Everyday she's finding more and more reasons why they're meant to be together.

Out of nowhere, hands come up to her shoulders, pushing her gently until the kiss breaks and they're breathing heavily into each other's mouths, staring intently as if they're searching for something.

"Did you bring protection?" Brittany pants through swollen lips.

Santana freezes. _Shit. _She was so caught up in organising this entire evening, she completely forgot to plan the _unplanned _part. If that makes any sense at all.

"Uh, no."

With strength she always forgets Brittany has, she's flipped and then the blondes sitting on her pelvis and she's staring at the roof of the tent. Brittany reaches above her head, and Santana's pretty sure that's on purpose because now she has her girlfriend's chest in her face, making her mouth water in anticipation.

"What are you doing?" She whispers, her voice thick with arousal as her hands take refuge on pale hips, thumbs dipping beneath the waistband of flannel pyjama pants and stroking along hot skin.

Brittany gasps, spine buckling when Santana smooths her hand along her girlfriend's abs, half her hand covering the twitching muscles and the other half resting on the smooth, heated skin above Brittany's clit.

"Condom," is the only word Brittany manages to get out before they're kissing again and hands are making their way down her chest and into her now-tented pyjama bottoms, curling around her shaft and stroking with intent. If it weren't for the tongue curling around her teeth and tracing the roof of her mouth, she'd probably be gasping and falling into unconsciousness because Brittany topping is _totally _hot.

"S'ntana... _Jesus_," Brittany mumbles against her mouth, "You're so hard." She pauses with a muffled groan, "I am _so _turned on right now."

Santana feels a shudder run all over and all available oxygen leave her lungs. With the combination of talking dirty and Brittany dominating, she could probably come right now. But she won't. Instead of replying, she kisses her girlfriend again, probing her tongue past lips and sensually caressing another whilst her pyjama bottoms are slowly peeled away from her hips and tugged down her body. She doesn't even open her eyes to see how this is happening, because she was pretty sure a minute ago there was a hand in her hair and a hand on her dick, but whatever, Brittany's stripping her. She's not going to complain.

When their kiss breaks, a particularly loud moan escapes her lips and a hand covers her mouth a second later. She rolls her hips, aching with desire because she's like, ridiculously hard and has a _ridiculously _hot girlfriend grinding all up on her. Which like multiplies her arousal by a hundred or whatever.

"Sssh," Brittany hushes, smiling like she knows they're doing something bad. "We've gotta be quiet."

Santana bites down on her bottom lip, hard and nods. "_Hmphhhh_," she grumbles, which she hopes sounds more of an acceptance that it did in her mind.

"Will you be quiet?"

She nods again, lifting one hand to grab Brittany's, turning it so a kiss can be placed on the palm. Letting her lips linger, she feels Brittany shudder and tugs down until their lips meet again. Softer this time, with more emotion and less tongue. This is the type of kissing Santana loves. The type that curls around her heart, warming it and the type that makes her never want to stop. It's the type of kissing that only two people in love can do. Because it's not about physical movement, it's about how they pour their emotions and speak volumes with their lips that words just will never be able to do justice.

It's pretty cold, so she understands when Brittany tugs off both their pyjama pants and then re-covers them with the unzipped sleeping bag. Even though they won't be so chilly in a minute, it doesn't matter. Cold air really does shrink _things._ So yeah, cover is good.

Santana runs her palm down Brittany's collarbone, between the valley of her breasts and down the dip in her abs. She can already feel the heat radiating from between her girlfriend's thighs and it pulls a strange growl from the pit of her stomach. Almost like she's been starved of this. Except she totally hasn't. She dips her hand beneath the damp fabric of Brittany's panties, silently worshipping the lace and cut because _whoah_, and traces a single finger around the girl's clit, pulling a similar sounding noise from her too. Their kiss breaks, and Brittany's back bows into her, breasts pushing against breasts

"Sssh," Santana mirrors, smirking. "We've gotta be quiet."

Brittany's eyes narrow. "You're annoying."

"You're cute."

"We're about to have sex," Brittany's lips brush against Santana's with every word. "And you're calling me _cute?_"

"Well you are cute."

"Are we gonna keep talking or we gonna do this?" Brittany asks in a very _un-_Brittany manner.

Santana just chuckles and closes the tiny gap between their teeth, taking a pink bottom lip between her own and teasing with the tip of her tongue. Her finger slides down, slipping through slick heat and pressing slightly. Brittany sucks in a sharp gasp, scrunching up her face and tilting her hips forward. Watching Brittany like this is probably one of the most amazing things in the entire world. Seeing the small crease in between fair eyebrows, lips pop open and eyes scrunch closed. It would probably seem unattractive... But it's totally the opposite.

"Nuh uh," Brittany reaches down and curls her fingers around a tanned wrist wrist. Stilling the movement a second before Santana enters her with two fingers. "Need more."

Santana looks at her, smirks and then presses their lips back together as she slips the condom out of Brittany's hand. With fingers tangling in her hair, securing their faces together, she nudges back Brittany's hips until her cock can spring free from her boxers, and lies between their bodies, pressed up against both their stomachs. She bites back a moan when Brittany grinds up her hard length and stopping when the tip bumps her covered clit, snapping her eyes open for a second to see her girlfriend biting down on her lip, preventing a moan of her own.

_Okay, _they're already struggling to stay quiet and they're _just_ rubbing up on each other.

"Babe, wait," Santana nudges her girlfriend's cheek with her nose. Brittany leans back, brows furrowing and presses her hands into tanned shoulders whilst Santana rips open the condom wrapper and rolls it over the tip until it's securely on. "Okay, go."

"Mmmm, demanding." Brittany quirks, winking.

Santana lets out a small chuckle. "Shut up."

Arousal coils in the pit of her stomach, winding tight enough to spring loose as Brittany leans forward, hands on Santana's chest supporting the weight as she angles her hips. Santana just gazes at Brittany adoringly, one hand reaching up to nudge up her chin so they're looking into each other's eyes. Soft, caring smiles are traded as their lips meet slowly, brushing against each other with ease as other parts begin to slide against one another. There's a split second where Santana feels fingers curl around the base of her cock, and feels her lips freeze as Brittany positions them and lowers herself gently.

"_Holy shit..."_ Brittany moans quietly, biting her lip hard as their foreheads tilt to meet.

Santana swallows a gasp, cupping Brittany's cheeks with both hands as she deepens the kiss and feels her entire cock being enveloped by warm, wet heat. Their tongues begin to tangle sensually as she feels Brittany take more and more until their pelvis' collide and she vibrates a moan The mere feeling of Brittany all around her, on her lips, on her cock, on her body... It just drives her crazy.

"Ssshhh," she whispers, even though she really fucking hates the fact she has to be quiet right now. She can feel the way Brittany's muscles are clenching around her. How Brittany's stretching but massaging at the same time. She can feel the way they fit together so perfectly like they were created to be together. And all of that just shoots straight to her head, heart and groin and she just wants to moan at the intensity of it.

Brittany bites on her bottom lip, eyes glazing with pleasure and nods once, twice, and then begins to rotate her hips. Tanned hands shoot straight to pale hips, gripping tightly as Santana begins to pump her hips, feeling her shaft slide in and out of a slick entrance. Brittany's hands glide across her chest, fingers tweaking her nipple quickly before sliding into dark locks and tangling. She bites on her bottom lip harder against the feel of nails grazing against her scalp and feels a pull, urging her to tilt up as Brittany leans down so they're lips can meet.

The kiss is sloppy, and messy. All tongues, a little use of teeth thrown in but barely any care as they're both concentrating too hard on moving as well as keeping quiet that finesse sort of just flies out her mind. Santana slides her hands down to pale thighs, slipping down and curling underneath them so she support the other girl whilst she thrusts into every downward movement. Brittany's lips curl into a half-smile that makes there lips bump and Santana can practically feel the moan vibrating form inside her girlfriends chest. So removing one hand, she brings it to the other girl's face and cups her cheek, using her lips to silence the moan before it's even there.

She has to admit, even though she's kind of hating that she can't let out how she feels, and can't listen to the noises and squeaks she can feel transferring into her mouth, having to be quiet and sneaky is fucking _hot. _

Brittany releases dark locks, moving her hands to grab at tanned ones before sliding their fingers together and pushing them beside Santana's head, into the small travel pillow they were previously using. Santana feels the coolness of Brittany's bracelet against the inner side of her wrist, inwardly thanking that the other hand is injured because she wouldn't be able to feel the incredibly sweet satisfaction pouring through her that heightens her emotions because Brittany loves the damn bracelet. Even if it was expensive, she now has their both their initials engraved onto a heart dangling off her girlfriend's wrist, and she doesn't even care that it's corny. Brittany now has a piece of her dangling off her limb and her heart flutters at the though.

Getting back to the task at hand, Santana shifts, widens her legs and nudges at Brittany's ass until she can bend her legs, helping to drive her cock deeper into her girlfriend's more than willing entrance.

The kiss breaking, Brittany sucks in her lips and rests their foreheads together, completely focused on the two tasks at hand which separately wouldn't be that difficult. But together... _Jesus. _If Santana's having a hard time restraining the grunts and groans, she can only imagine how hard (no pun intended) it is for Brittany. If anything, the few times they've been intimate before, Brittany's been pretty vocal and it just spurs Santana on. Not that the image of the blonde riding her doesn't already.

_Oh God, _she thinks. She just turned herself on even more.

On the next downward grind, where Brittany rotates her hips, Santana untangles their fingers and grabs pale knees, tugging slightly until they widen a little further and she thrusts up, burying herself fully until they couldn't be any closer together. Blue eyes snap open, locking with brown and Santana can't help the smirk that tugs at her lips when she knows she just hit _that _spot. Brittany narrows her eyes, still biting her lip because Santana hasn't stopped pounding and allows a small smile to creep onto her face.

They totally both know what's going on now, even if Santana didn't even mean to initiate it.

"Not fair," Brittany half pants, eyes still fluttering with pleasure as she continues to rock forward.

Santana grins evilly, feeling the coil in the pit of her stomach tighten when she grasps at the flesh of a pale ass and lifts, manipulating the angle so she can hit that spot _repeatedly. _Brittany's eyes flutter shut, spine buckling until the top half of her body is entirely covering Santana's and her hot breath is blanketing the skin of a tanned neck. A whimper is muffled into her skin and she kneads her fingers, tilting and pounding as much as she can at this angle.

She's about two seconds away from shifting and flipping them when Brittany collects herself and pulls back slightly, sensing the movement to come and shakes her head. "Nuh, uh," the blonde breathes out through a moan.

These groans are seriously getting harder and harder to hold in now. But Santana can feel the muscles around her rock hard member clenching tighter and tighter with every thrust, as well as the spring in the pit of her stomach gearing up to release and she just doesn't really care. However there is a part in the back of her mind telling her that they should stay quiet, and she just can't seem to quell it.

So _not _cool.

Brittany lifts up, slamming down until a loud, wet smack sounds through the tent and they both look at each other with _oops _written on their expression, tugging at their lips in a guilty smile. Santana feels her laugh a little and sucks in her lips, because as amusing as it would be for them to be caught (not to mention kind of hot, adrenaline rush, hello?) she'd prefer not to have to face that in the morning. Brittany repeats the movement, except the sigh of pleasure is way too loud to be mistaken as something else and the blonde grabs at a tanned hand, bringing it up to her mouth to cover it, muffling the moan into the palm of Santana's hand.

Who knew a simple movement could be so fucking hot?

"_Jesus, Britt..." _Santana grunts, using her other hand to slide down her girlfriend's abs, applying the lightest of pressures until it leans against the tip of her cock and _holy shit _she's so close right now. A particularly loud groan escapes her lips without meaning, because so far they've been doing a pretty good job of keeping their heavy breathing quiet, and Brittany's hand covers her mouth instinctively.

Both their eyes snap open, with Santana completely unaware hers even closed and they meet as their orgasms approach, tightening in the pit of their stomachs and creeping up their spines until they both know in about twenty seconds they'll be tipping over the edge. Feeling the exertion spiral down the back of her neck, Santana bites her lip, presses her feet to the sleeping mat beneath her and slams into Brittany from beneath, faster and faster until the heat becomes too much and Santana feels herself let go completely.

Brittany leans down, swiping away both of their hands until their lips can press together and Santana instinctively glides her hand down the other girls body, two fingers slipping through slick heat until she brings Brittany with her by teasing two fingers around a hardened nub. Their tongues meet and both of their moans intertwine, transforming into one as they meld together... Tipping over the edge in sync.

Santana empties every last drop of herself inside the condom, pressing up until there's no possibly way she could be further inside Brittany and watches as waves of violent pleasure course through her girlfriend. The warmth around her cock tightens almost impossibly tight, and she feels herself nearly come again when Brittany arches forward, attaching her lips to the skin of Santana's neck and muffling a scream into it because there's no way in hell she would be able to keep _that _one in. It's _that _loud.

Wrapping her arms around her girlfriend's body, Santana feels her own orgasm pulse through her and bites down on a pale shoulder to with hold it. It may not be as powerful as the one being printed into her skin, but with the combination of needing to be sneaky and quiet, as well as, well... _Brittany, _it's still pretty damn strong and she shakes as both of them convulse their way into bliss.

* * *

><p>Several moments later, when their breathing has somewhat regulated, Santana combs her fingers through blonde locks, slightly dampened from sweat and lets out a throaty sigh that sounds half-way between a moan and a giggle. Brittany lifts her head, fingers sliding up sweaty, tanned skin until they land on the space below Santana's collarbone where she places her chin on top of them.<p>

"Well that was interesting," the blonde breathes out, a smirk in her tone.

Santana lets out a small chuckle, leaning to press a kiss to the crown of Brittany's forehead. "You never know how much you do something until you can't do it."

Brittany giggles adorably, nose scrunching until the overwhelming feeling of affection and happiness curls into Santana's stomach, twining up her throat until she can't suppress the ridiculous grin that creeps across her face. Her heart flutters and flies like someone just attached a million balloons to it and she decides that leaving this spot (even if she's buried hilt deep inside her girlfriend) is something she _doesn't _want to do. Except that want is quickly erased when the chilling sound of another voice creeps through the tent and flows into their ears.

"Are you guys finished now?" Rachel's voice squeaks from outside the tent. "Quinn and I would like to be able to go to sleep now."

Santana's eyes widen comically and Brittany snaps her head up quicker than you can say _we got caught. _They stare at each other for about three seconds before bursting into a fit of laughter that they just can't with hold any longer.

* * *

><p><strong>A few words would be greatly appreciated please!<strong>


	28. chapter twenty eight

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Twenty Eight]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary: <strong>They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>D<strong>**isclaimer: **This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 11k  
><strong>A<strong>**uthor's Note: **I know it's been a long wait, and I do apologise. Got caught up and then had a block. But I now have a beta (who wants to remain a mystery) and she's awesome, so shout out and big thanks to her! Anyway, here's a long chapter-_ish, _and there's a little bit of everything in this chapter, I think! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p>Santana wakes up in the morning, breathing out an airy sigh and feeling thickness coat the tunnel of her throat. After several minutes of stomach-aching laughter last night, she and Brittany managed to acquiesce to Rachel's request and smother the giggles with soft kisses and slow drags of tongues along the roof of each other's mouths. God knows how, but they also managed to keep their hands to themselves; probably due to the sheer embarrassment they felt for having Rachel call them out on sexy times.<p>

But hey, they were enjoying it so fuck it.

"Britt?" she croaks out; blindly reaching with her left (and also injured) hand to meet nothing but cool sheets. Muffing a groan into her pillow, she inhales deeply and uses all the energy she can summon at this time in the morning – even though she has no idea what time that is – to flip herself over. Just in case Brittany's decided to snuggle the tent door instead of Santana.

But nope. She's the only one inside and it kind of pulls a whine to bubble from her lips. Waking up without Brittany sucks now; because she knows how fucking amazing it feels to wake up _with _her and stare at pink lips, creamy skin and then bright, piercing blue eyes hooded with fatigue. Even in the morning Brittany manages to be painfully beautiful.

"Babe?" She tries again, slouching forward and shuffling until she's sitting with her legs out in front of her; sleeping bag tangled around her thighs.

Rubbing the ache out the back of her eyes with her knuckles, she manages to push away the grogginess tugging at the back of her mind and listen to her surroundings. Sure enough, she hears that heavenly chuckle that makes Santana smile even when she's just woken up; and that's pretty hard to do. Just ask everyone that _isn't _Brittany. The only times she's ever smiled in the morning when she's just been woken is when the blonde is around her or kissing her into consciousness.

She seriously wishes that happened instead of what _actually _happened.

Throwing the sleeping bag off her legs – which actually takes longer than anticipated because somehow the zipper has sucked in the edge of her boxer shorts and now it's fucking stuck – she clambers to her feet, feeling her joints pop back into place and basically falls out the tent entrance. Stretching herself up to her full height, fingers reaching towards the sky, she yawns widely and paps her mouth together a few times to push away the dryness chapping her lips.

(She glances down quickly and thanks the lord that she and Brittany thought getting dressed last night before falling asleep was a good idea.)

"San!" Brittany calls from across the burned out fire pit; where she's sitting cross legged on the floor, huddled up in a blanket with Quinn and Rachel cuddled in front of her.

They're sipping on travel Thermos cups and as Santana heads closer, and notices that Brittany's is still basically full; she guesses it's probably one of Berry's herbal teas. They taste like _crap; _but Brittany's way too polite to ever say anything.

"Morning beautiful," Santana says, grinning as she steps behind Brittany and sits down, pushing her legs either side of her girlfriend's body.

Shuffling forward until there's no space between her chest and Brittany's back, she presses a quick, soft kiss to the piece of skin showing where Brittany's neck meets her shoulder and then rests her chin upon it. It's only now that she realises the strange, half-embarrassed, half-amused looks she's getting.

"What?"

Quinn looks to Rachel, who looks back and then towards Santana. "You are aware what happened last night, right?" The smaller brunette says, ears tinging pink.

Santana smirks, because _hell yeah _she remembered. She slides her hands around Brittany's waist, resting them upon her stomach and only seconds later pale fingers slide through hers; tangling together tightly. Her stomach flips almost uncontrollably but she keeps her cool, feeling Brittany lean back into her body and relax.

"Yeah, I do," she responds, cooly. "I'm assuming you two do too, perverts."

Quinn presses her lips together like she's trying not to smile and Rachel glares at her quickly; clearly more annoyed by the disturbance than the blonde is. "We're not perverts."

Santana grins, noticing the matching one on her girlfriend's face. "You _were _listening."

"You _were _loud," Rachel retorts, annoyance etching across her face.

Brittany giggles, leaning forward to break their embrace only to pull out the blanket from between them and throw it over both her body again; this time with Santana. Pressing a quick kiss to the space behind her girlfriend's ear as a small _thank you_, Santana returns to their original position and smirks at the other brunette. "I told you to put headphones in."

They all break into laughter; well, apart from Rachel who just lets out an annoyed huff and crosses her arms. Quinn pulls her girlfriend into an embrace, despite her body vibrating and shaking and presses tender, apologetic kisses to the crown of Rachel's head. Brittany leans back into Santana, lacing their fingers together again where they rest on a toned stomach; and turns her head until all Santana can feel is hot breath blanketing the sharp ledge of her jaw. It makes her squeeze her thighs tighter.

"That was mean," Brittany whispers; so low there's no way anyone else could hear.

Santana gives a small shrug, not wanting to disturb their position. "If that was mean then you're mean too."

Fair brows scrunch together, confused. "How?"

"You _were _the one making the noises."

"So were you," Brittany replies; her blue eyes darkening mischievously.

Nuzzling their noses together, Santana tightens her grip. "You're good at what you do. What can I say?"

Brittany chuckles like someone just whispered a dirty secret in her ear and Santana grins. They hear a clucking tongue from beside them and turn their heads, watching Rachel arch a brow and Quinn pull her lips down at the side apologetically. Rolling her eyes, Santana presses a quick kiss to Brittany's cheek and then moves away because she's getting that _it looks like you're about to jump on each other _glare from the dwarf. Although she can feel a comment begging to come up; and even though Brittany will probably exhale disapproval at her for saying it, and Quinn might possibly clip her around the head... She just _needs _to say it.

"Just because I can make my girl scream louder than yours," Santana quips, smirking.

"San!" Brittany's entire face turns red; ears tinging pink and cheeks blushing furiously.

Rachel stands, smoothing out her top to remove any crinkles and stares down at them with pursed lips. "I'll have you know I do a more than satisfactory job," she says, cheeks pinking. "And I've heard Brittany before so it's not a new thing, unfortunately."

It takes a few seconds, but when the words sink into Santana's mind, she snaps her head up and glares at the other brunette. "What?" She asks through her teeth, baring them slightly more aggressively than needed.

Rachel widens her eyes as if she acknowledges she's done wrong. "Excuse me?"

"You said you've heard Britt before..."

Brittany stiffens in her arms and Santana can tell even from the side how her girlfriend's pleading with Rachel not to say something. Feeling like she's missing a piece from the puzzle, she shuffles back, moves to the side of the blonde and looks between them, back and forth about three times before settling on the small brunette again.

"What did you mean?"

Rachel clears her throat as if she's trying to forget what she just said. "Um, I just meant that Brittany isn't exactly the _um_," she coughs again, clearly uncomfortable. "_Quietest _of people whilst partaking in coitus."

Brown eyes narrow; knowing damn well they haven't had sex anywhere near Rachel bar last night. "With who?"

"With whom?" The short brunette parrots; nervously glancing down to Quinn who's pointedly avoiding the eye contact. "Well as you know... She was with-"

"Rachel." Brittany basically hisses, eyes sharp and Rachel's mouth snaps shut with a resounding smack that echoes through the silence.

"No," Santana continues to stare at the other brunette. "Let her speak, Brittany. You were saying, Berry?"

Rachel kicks her foot along the ground beneath her, rolling a few twigs. "Santana," she ducks her head but keep the eye contact. "I'm sure you don't want to hear about Brittany and her past lovers."

The name sends shivers down Santana's spine and she unconsciously moves away from her girlfriend until there's a good metre between them. It feels like miles. Quinn shuffles uncomfortably, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them like she's trying to disappear from this entire conversation. And then Santana feels something curdle in her stomach as she looks between all the other three, seeking the confirmation she doesn't actually need because she can feel the awkwardness and discomfort settle in the atmosphere.

_Mike._

"Right," she says, looking to the ground beneath her. "Okay."

She just clenches her jaw, and glances around to see Quinn staring down at the ashes of last night's fire, Rachel with _shit _written across her forehead and Brittany trying to find the right words to say with her lips sucked into her mouth and brow furrowed. After about a minute or so, Brittany lands on the decision to reach out, trying to comfort Santana by brushing her bicep but she dodges, quickly manoeuvrings herself to her feet.

Brittany looks up at her with an expression Santana really _doesn't _want to see right now. Apologetic and hurt. "San..." she whispers brokenly.

"Yeah," she tries to break the silence lingering between them. "We should probably get going," she manages to avoid the blue eyes boring into her skull. "I've got to get some work done at the studio."

Quinn narrows her eyes quickly as if to say "_no you don't"_but she's wise enough _not _to say it. Without Quinn saying anything, Rachel and Brittany can't question it so she forces a smile and heads back to the tent; the sound of her feet crunching against broken twigs and dirt amplifying the silence.

The last thing she hears as she zips the tent up is the sound of Brittany dropping her head to her knees and Rachel muttering soft apologies.

* * *

><p>Santana's standing by the jetty, throwing the duffel bags into the boat with a little more force than necessary. It's been two hours since Rachel blurted out all those times Brittany's had sex with Mike and was <em>mega <em>loud. Okay_, complete exaggeration _but inside Santana's veins (which are burning with anger, jealousy, hurt and regret) it feels like Rachel might as well just have said that. She might as well have said **"**_Mike and Britt used to fuck all night long" _or **"**_Brittany couldn't possibly keep quiet whilst she was riding Mike into oblivion" _because this is _exactly _what it would feel like if she had said that.

Even though yeah, she's pretty sure she'd be punching holes through walls if Rachel had _actually _said something along those lines.

"Hey."

Gritting her teeth together, she throws the last of the duffel bags into the boat – where it lands with a loud _thunk –_and claps her hands together before turning. When she does, Brittany's standing there, fiddling with her fingers in front of her nervously and biting on her bottom lip like she's not sure what to do.

"Hi," she answers with a tone she's only ever used on Brittany like, twice.

Brittany's face sinks, eyes flickering down to her shoe which she's scuffing along the ground. "Are you mad at me?"

Santana inhales deeply, feeling her chest basically double in size as she crosses her arms and turns back towards the boat to untie the rope so they're ready to go. "Nope," she answers, even though her tone totally says _yes. _**"**I'm fine."

"Santana..." Brittany's tone is that one she's been doing ever since they met.

It's the one that dips in the middle and basically misses out the vowels so it's more of a _'Sntna.' _The way she says it just screams condescension and a distinct edge of seriousness and Santana really fucking wishes she wouldn't do that. Saying her name like she knows what's going on inside her head and how truly fucked up she is because even after their confessions of love and relationship so far; she still can't seem to let go of the past or the jealousy she feels.

"Just leave it, Britt. Seriously. I'm fine."

Fingers curl around her wrist, stilling the movement but she doesn't look back; just keeps her eyes trained on the thick rope still wrapped around the little metal. "Can you just tell me why you're angry, please?"

"I'm fine."

"Santana," Brittany repeats a little harder, tugging on Santana's wrist until they're facing each other.

"I said I'm fucking fine!" Santana half-yells, yanking her arm away and widening her eyes when she sees Quinn and Rachel slow to a walk with half-quizzical, half-confused expressions. Her eyes dart between the three girls as she notices her own clenched fists, rapid heart beat and sharp, intakes of breath that makes her chest rise and fall quickly. She can just imagine how pissed she looks; and how bad it seems considering even _she _knows how pathetic she is for being angry.

When she finally manages to calm herself a little, she looks back to Brittany and finds watery blue eyes staring at her. Something heavy drops in her stomach and guilt pangs through her body; strumming like the strings of a guitar. She fucking hates herself right now.

"Okay," Brittany says, lowly; her voice wavering since she's on the brink of tears as she swiftly breezes past Santana, making sure to jolt to the right so their shoulders don't brush as she steps onto the boat and disappears into the little room below deck. Rachel follows quickly, shooting her a look that says **"**_look what you've done now" _and Santana rolls her eyes; even if inwardly she's repeating the same thing.

Except she doesn't feel like that right now. She doesn't get why Brittany's pissed and why she _shouldn't _be. So when Quinn opens her mouth to say something, Santana lifts a hand, hold it out and says, "leave it" before heading back to camp to pick up whatever is left.

* * *

><p>It's pretty much silent the entire trip back.<p>

Santana stays at the back of the boat, looking at the waves cascading over each other and the fishes tailgate their boat, and she thinks Brittany's somewhere in the cabin. Every few minutes she hears Rachel say her name _loudly _to ensure Santana knew they were talking about her. But to be honest she couldn't really care.

They get out the boat, Santana faster than the others as she grabs the bags and and throws them carelessly into the back of the trunk of the car. Brittany watches her the entire time. She can feel those fucking blue eyes burning a hole into her skin as she moves around, pointedly not looking back and finishes by kissing Quinn on the cheek, glaring at Rachel and then climbing into the car, slamming the door louder than necessary behind her.

She drums her fingertips along the top of the steering wheel as she watches Brittany hug both Rachel and Quinn, thank them by the looks of it and then nod sadly as the dwarf points towards the car. Anger gurgles in the back of her throat and her nostrils flare in reaction. Fucking Rachel. Thinking she's making it better when actually she's probably making it fucking worse.

The door clicks open and Brittany slides in wordlessly. Santana switches on the ignition, shoots a half smile towards Quinn as she twists around, throwing one arm over the passenger seat and reverses out the space and then proceeds to drive out the car park. When she pulls her hand back, fingers curl around her wrist and tugs until her hand is in Brittany's lap. She tries to flinch out of it, because the skin touching hers seems too hot and heavy, but Brittany just clutches on with strength Santana always forgets she possesses.

"You're mad."

Santana lets out a snort that kind of sounds like a scoff. "No, shit."

Brittany ducks her head, her bottom lip trembling and dropping into a pout. Santana feels guilt flood through her but bites it back. She has good fucking reason to be pissed. She's not going to feel bad for something she didn't do, or for something Brittany did.

"What did I do?" Brittany asks in a small voice that curls around Santana's heart. She's such a bitch and is seriously starting to hate herself for being like this. Especially when Brittany flips up her palm and begins to smooth her thumbs along the lines, tracing every dip and curve like she's memorizing it.

"You should know what you've done."

"But I don't."

The car rounds a corner, and Brittany slides along the seat, giving Santana enough time to yank her hand away and grip the steering wheel tightly. She clenches her jaw, strains her eyes and focuses on the road instead of the watery blue eyes gazing at her like a kicked puppy.

"Well, you should," she retorts.

Brittany turns in her seat, facing Santana side on. "How am I supposed to apologise for something if I don't know what I've done?"

That's a pretty good point actually. Not that she'll admit it. Instead, she rolls her shoulder in a half shrug. "You'll just have to figure that one out."

"San..." Brittany's tone dips and Santana wants to bash her head against the window. That's the tone she's known and become to despise since they were 8 years old and she thought it was funny to push that Jewish, ginger kid over in the sandpit. In the past few years though, she hasn't heard it and now it just pisses her off more. Brittany's making her feel like the bad guy when she's done fuck all. How the fuck is this fair?

Brittany tilts her head, studies her for long moments and Santana seriously wishes she'd stop doing that. Looking at her and reading her like she's a fucking picture book. Using that skill to her advantage and not allowing Santana to have these few hours of being pissed off. It's fucking allowed. Especially after what she knows, now.

"Is it because of what Rachel said?" Brittany asks, her voice a little stronger and more knowing.

She could lie, and say no, but Brittany would call her out on it. Instead, she presses her lips together and continues to stare at the road. Ignoring the spiking jealousy pouring through her body.

"Santana, I don't get why you're angry." Brittany pulls her eyebrows together, "It's not exactly new that Mike and I were engaged. I left him to be with you."

It should make her feel better, and it kind of does, but she's still pissed. "I know," she grits out, even though she still gets a fluttering in her stomach when she remembers that Brittany chose her over someone else.

"Then why are you mad?" Brittany asks in that half-whiney voice that makes Santana hate herself that little bit more.

"Just because."

"Because what?"

She grits her teeth harder until a metallic tang slides across her tongue. "Because I fucking am," she hisses, her anger multiplying inside her until it's hot to the touch. "Alright?"

"No," Brittany almost laughs the word. "It's not alright."

The car turns into the parking lot and heads down the ramp until darkness surrounds the vehicle. The only light in the cab is the dim glow of the cheap bulbs dimly illuminating it, but Santana can still feel blue eyes burning a hole into her profile. She fucking hates that Brittany's just waiting and staring at her like she's about to give an answer. It's ridiculous that Brittany doesn't know why she's angry. Pretty damn obvious, if you ask her. She almost rolls her eyes at her own thoughts.

"Are you going to tell me?" Brittany's voice is a little harder than usual, and it kind of worries Santana.

She's only ever heard this tone once before, and that was with the whole Sophie and Mike fiasco. Fear creeps into her veins and heat builds around her collar as she begins to panic. But she doesn't show it. She won't show it. She doesn't want to give in and give Brittany the satisfaction of knowing that she can't possibly bare to be pissed off at the blonde for more than a few measly hours. Stubborn of her, she knows. But right now, she couldn't really give a crap.

In lieu of answering, Santana pulls into the parking space that's allocated to the Jeep and hops out the car. The door slams behind her and she winces at the volume of it. No doubt Brittany will take _that _for an answer, and will totally dramatize this whole argument. It wasn't supposed to escalate to this level. She was just supposed to be silently pissed off for a few hours, and take a breather from Brittany before falling to the girl's feet. But now it's turned into something different, something on a higher level and something that puts their relationship in dangerous territory. Mostly because of her, she'll admit that. But it still doesn't help at all.

Throwing open the boot of the car, she grabs their bags and lugs them over her shoulders. She slams shut the boot door, ignoring the way Brittany's sitting in the car, body still and gaze fixed at the brick wall they're parked in front of, and moves around to the car. She's pissed off, sure, but she's not rude. So she takes in a deep, aggravated breath and opens Brittany's door, gesturing for the girl to climb out. When the blonde doesn't, she huffs impatiently, taps her foot against the concrete beneath her boots about three times and purses her lips expectantly.

"Are you planning on getting out any time soon or shall I leave you here?"

She regrets the words as soon as they come out, and then it multiplies when Brittany snaps her head around, and shoots a narrowed glare towards her. She swallows thickly, hooks her thumb underneath one of the straps of the duffel bags, but keeps a stoic expression. Brittany can't break her, right now. She's determined to stay angry for at least another hour or two.

Brittany reaches out, and grips the door of the car with one hand to aid climbing out the car. Once a foot is pressed to the floor, Santana takes a step back and gestures sarcastically with a wave of her hand to continue moving. It's not received well. She thinks it's kind of good, because that was her intention, but when her girlfriend sucks her cheeks in and shakes her head as if to say _you're pathetic, _she kind of regrets doing it.

"You're being an ass," Brittany spits out as she slams the door shut, disregarding where Santana's fingers lie barely millimetres away from the hinge. About two over, and she'd be on her way to the ER right now. The blonde whips around, clenches her jaw and shakes her head when Santana just cocks a brow as if to say '_really?' _**"**You know that right?"

Brave move, Santana knows, especially because she's been on the receiving end of Brittany being pissed off before and it's not a pretty experience. But she just keeps the perfectly shaped eyebrow raised and fails to respond, knowing any words may intensify this fight and it really _wasn't _meant to get this out of hand.

"Fine," Brittany grits out. "Be an ass. See if I care."

It hurts more than she thought it would, and when Brittany twirls away, crosses her arms and stalks faster than usual, with a hell of a lot more anger in each step, she begins to think that maybe this whole being pissed off at Brittany thing wasn't a good idea. There's still that stupid fucking part of her, deep inside her mind that's frozen in high school mode. Where she basically refuses to give in and say sorry when there's a tiny chance that maybe, just maybe, she has a legitimate reason for being pissed off.

She hopes she does anyway.

Slamming the door shut, she lets out a heavy breath she didn't know she was holding and begins to walk after Brittany, with her head ducked to her chest. She doesn't need a time machine to know that in about five minutes, confrontation will occur.

She fucking hates herself, sometimes.

* * *

><p>Santana leans against the stoops railing, staring at her girlfriend's profile whilst Brittany unlocks the door. She can see the anger etched in the blondes features. Crinkling at her eyebrows, tightening around her jaw and narrowing her already cat-like eyes. The need to reach out, stroke a finger along the creases and watch them smooth out under her touch surges down her arm like a spark, but she doesn't do it.<p>

Instead, she grips the handles of the duffel bags tighter and just continues to watch, hating herself a little bit more when Brittany struggles to open her apartment and her blue eyes gloss over with frustration.

The locks snap and click barely a second later, and Brittany barges her shoulder against the door, retracting the key and pushing it open simultaneously. Santana almost rolls her eyes, but doesn't, knowing how much shit she's in already. That gesture would just bump up the tally of how many nights the sofa will be her bed.

Even if there's a spare room.

Brittany's at that level of anger that she'd probably lock the damn door so Santana couldn't get in. It's not like she doesn't understand, she _has _been an ass. And still is being one, for that matter.

Throwing down the keys, which clang against the glass vase on the side table _loudly, _Brittany moves through the living room in long strides and heads down the hall and for the bedroom. Santana doesn't even get a word in sideways before the sound of a door slamming shut echoes through the apartment. Anger bubbles in the pit of her stomach and she grinds her teeth against the frustration she feels.

"Yeah, because slamming a fucking door is going to help!"

She doesn't even mean to yell it, it's meant to be a small muttering under her breath, but she doesn't quite think it comes out like that. Eyes widening, the breath catches in her throat and she stands idly in the centre of the living room, the duffel bags resting on the sofa cushions as she waits in anticipation for her girlfriend to storm out and scream at her.

Of course, Brittany does come out, eyes narrowed dangerously and features contorted with pure anger. Her lips are slightly parted, and her head is tilted with her ear perked up a little like she can't quite believe Santana just said that.

Santana doesn't even think the comment was that fucking bad.

"What?" Brittany hisses.

Being the stubborn ass she is, Santana just lifts her chin triumphantly like she _meant _to speak as loud as she did. "I said, because slamming a fucking door wou-"

"I heard what you said," the blonde cuts it, striding around the couch and planting a palm to the arm rest.

"Then why the fuck would you ask?" Santana throws her hands up into the air and they fall back down again, slapping against the jean of her thigh.

Brittany shrinks down, her eyes softening and lower lip drooping until she looks like a kicked puppy. Santana runs her tongue along her teeth and lets out a angered sigh because she really fucking hates when Brittany does that. Like _really _fucking hates it. It makes her want to lurch forward, wrap her arms around her girlfriend and drop thousands of kisses and apologies into the girl's hair and around her face.

"Don't do that, Britt," she sighs, lifting a hand and pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Don't make me feel bad."

"I'm not making you feel bad," the blonde says in a small voice. Basically fucking proving Santana point.

"Yes, you are!" Santana half-yells, twirling on her foot and stalking towards the kitchen.

She doesn't enter, though. Just leans against the frame and rubs her temple with two fingers. It's like a bad dream that she can't fucking wake up from. Although, the headache she feels kind of reminds her of a hangover. Except instead of alcohol overload it's fighting-with-Brittany overload. Even her damn body knows how wrong it is to be fighting with the girl. Doesn't do anything but multiply the guilt she feels.

She feels Brittany hesitate behind her, and can imagine the way blue eyes are glossing over with unshed tears that are because of _her_. Throat thickening, she swallows, pushes off the frame and spins again until she's facing the blonde. Usually, the image of Brittany crying would probably bring her to her knees and quell the anger bubbling inside of her. But this time, she just rolls her eyes and sucks in a deep, shaky breath.

"See!" She waves out her hand in the blondes general direction. "You're fucking crying, now!"

"Because you're shouting!"

Santana takes a step forward, thrusting her fist out. "I'm shouting because you're _making _me shout."

"If you told me why I'm '_making you shout',_**" **Brittany mimics Santana, who clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth in reply. "Then maybe I could apologise and we could sort this out!"

Hearing Brittany yell is definitely not something Santana's used to. Nor does she think she'll _ever _get used to it. Seeing her girlfriend angry is like seeing a volcano erupt. When it happens, it's actually pretty mesmerizing and beautiful in a strange way, but at the same time, it's pretty damn scary because it's like _shit, _where the hell did that come from?

Brittany's just one of those people that doesn't _suit _being pissed off. Her face is innocent with those bright blue eyes, perfect, pink lips and glowing, pale skin. Her brows shouldn't furrow in the way they do when she's angry, and her skin shouldn't tighten around the sharp ledge of her jaw the way it does when she's pissed. In some ways, Brittany being angry kind of makes Santana want to smile and tease her.

Probably not the best thing to do right now, though.

"Santana," Brittany says, lowly, in that same damn tone she used by the car this morning. That half-patronizing, half-knowing one that really fucking grinds her gears. "Tell me."

"No."

"Santana."

She moves into the kitchen, shaking her head because the truth is looping over and over in her mind and just pissing her off more. When she reaches the fridge, she yanks it open and grabs a carton of juice, throwing off the cap and chugging it down. It's one of those little things that she knows is going to piss Brittany off more, because back when they were teenagers, Brittany _always _used to say **"**_use a cup, Santana." _Although, now she thinks about it, she's pretty sure that's the reason she's doing it. Out of plain spite.

"Santana," Brittany breathes out, and this time it's a lot softer than her previous tone. Another thing Santana hates. A pale hand reaches out, curling around her forearm and squeezing lightly until their eyes flicker up and meet. "Can you just tell me?"

"Because you fucking slept with Mike!"

And there it is.

Not quite in black and white. But still lingering in the air around them like the black plague. Brittany's mouth drops into an 'o' shape and her fair eyebrows raise until they disappear into her hairline, and Santana shuffles, snapping her jaw shut and staring intently at the ground. Now that she's saying it out loud... She realizes just how pathetic it sounds and almost laughs at herself.

"Because I _slept with Mike_?" Brittany repeats like she doesn't quite know what she's saying. Her eyes are still burning though, and Santana gulps at the way she feels them penetrate her skull.

"See why I wasn't going to tell you?"

Brittany licks her quivering bottom lip. "You're angry at me because I _slept with Mike_?"

"Yes, Brittany. There's no need to fucking repeatit. Pretty sure we heard it already."

A heartbeat later and Brittany responds. "Did you sleep with Sophie?"

Santana stills, blinks and narrows her eyes at her girlfriend. "What?"

But Brittany stays strong with her question, lifting her chin, arching a brow and standing tall. "Did you sleep with Sophie?"

Not entirely sure where this is going, Santana takes a step closer to runs her tongue along the inner side of her teeth. A few answers run through her head, many of which end up with "_what the fuck does that have to do with this?" _but she knows that Brittany wouldn't bring it up without reason. Now she's intrigued as well as pissed off. Plus, lying isn't going to get her anywhere.

"Yeah," she nods, slowly. "She was my _wife_."

Stained tear tracks become obvious when Brittany twists her head, sucking in a sharp, shaky breath and tightening the grip on her arms around her chest. Santana almost gives in then, because she knows it's still a sore subject for both of them, _especially _now that they're fighting, but she doesn't. She won't. She has a fair point and wants to know where the hell this question is heading.

"And Mike," Brittany lets out through a long exhale. "Mike was my_ fiancée._"

Santana almost scoffs, but then realizes just how true those words are and the will to argue sinks. As much as she hates to even think it, she is wrong. Brittany's right. Who is she to get angry at Brittany when she slept with Sophie? It's not like they're giving each other as good as they got, because Santana knows that technically, she was the one in the wrong.

Sure, Sophie was her wife, but the only reason they ever consummated their marriage was because she was retaliating against Brittany. After she thought she saw Brittany and Mike stumble out that stupid bathroom at the party.

Her mouth snaps shut when she sees Brittany begin to cry again, but anger flares inside of her once more. This time, it's not aimed at her girlfriend. But at herself, and it's really fucking tempting to head butt the wall or punch a hole through it or something to cause some physical pain to distract from the emotional one.

So instead of admitting to being wrong, or breaking down and muttering millions of apologies at Brittany (because she's still Santana, and still incredibly stubborn) she grunts; "I'm going to Barney's," and heads for the door, grabbing her jacket off the coat rack on the way.

As her hand reaches for the handle, Brittany steps in front of her, in between the door and her body and leans back against it to pull it out her grasp. Santana grinds her teeth together, flares her nostrils and feels her hand twitch with anger. Seriously, her girlfriend needs to fucking move now. This isn't exactly the best position to be in when she's angry. Especially considering the last time she was this pissed off, Puckerman received a fist to the face and a broken nose.

Not that it's the same, at all. She'd never hit Brittany. The mere thought makes her knees weak.

Santana breathes in deeply, eyes darting down to the pale hand covering the handle and back up to blue eyes. "Move, Britt," she hisses with as much venom in her. "I'm leaving."

"No you're not," Brittany responds shuffling her feet forward and pressing her shoulder blades harder into the door. "You're not leaving."

"Yes-" Santana yanks Brittany's hand away from the handle and covers it with her own to punctuate her sentence. "-I am."

"No," Brittany lurches forward and presses her body against Santana's. "You're not."

"Why the fuck not?" Santana yells as she steps back, knowing she can't maintain the level of anger, or the fight for the matter, if her girlfriend's body is pressed against hers. The two seconds it was has already made her heart pick up that little bit more.

"Because!" Brittany screeches, tears flowing freely.

"Because what, Britt!"

"Because I'm not Sophie!"

It rips the breath straight from her, and she blinks a few times, trying to comprehend whether or not Brittany actually said that. Her mind races. Her heart pounds. But she still comes to the conclusion that Brittany did _actually _say that. Legitimately.

"What!"

Brittany whimpers, crosses her arms and runs a finger underneath her eye to wipe away a tear. "I'm not Sophie," she repeats, quieter than before. "You can't just walk out and come back later, and everything will be fine and dandy."

"Britt..." It comes out as a whisper, and Santana tentatively steps forward, running her fingertips down a toned forearm until she reaches slender fingers. She slides them into the gaps and clutches, tugging until Brittany's body clashes against hers and her nose is nudging against a pale cheek. "Britt," she gulps and blinks away the heat pricking at her eyelids. "Look at me."

Brittany looks up sheepishly, cowering slightly from the drastic change in atmosphere. Santana takes this moment to cup the girl's cheek, running her thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone and across her temple to the hinge of her jaw. She smiles, carefully, and strokes back a lock of hair, eyes following the movement until they land back on pools of blue.

"I know you're not Sophie," she breathes out, ignoring the urge to wince at the name. "And that's why I'm in love with you. You know me better than she ever did. You know what I'm thinking, even before I'm thinking it. You know how to cheer me up, how to make me smile and how to make me feel like I'm fucking flying," she chuckles out the last words, quietly. "You're the complete _opposite _of Sophie_, _and that's why I know how much we were meant to be together."

Pale hands find their way from the small space between their bodies to the lapels of Santana's shirt, and begin playing with them. Brittany focuses intently on the movement, clearly unsure of what to respond with, or whether she's supposed to respond, and so Santana just continues.

"You're everything Sophie's not, and everything I never knew I needed," she shakes her head, hoping the words don't come out negatively. "I should've just listened to my heart all along," she whispers, tilting until their foreheads meet and her words blanket Brittany's face. "Because it's always belonged to you."

She doesn't really think about what happens next, or how it happens, all she knows is that one moment blue eyes are roaming around her face, sparkling brilliantly, and the next Brittany's lips are on hers and they're staggering backwards, tipping over the armrest and onto the sofa. Their bodies collide with a "_hmph", _and Santana smiles against Brittany's lips when her hand glides underneath the hem of her girlfriend's top, nails scratching against abs, toned from years of dancing and slipping underneath the cup of Brittany's bra to thumb at a hardening nipple.

She feels Brittany smile against the kiss, and slender fingers glide down to the hem of her shirt, bunching it up underneath her bra because it won't go any further. Her hands move, slipping off Brittany's boob and push gently at the blonde shoulders until Brittany shifts, throwing a leg over her hip until she's being straddled by her beautiful girlfriend. Arousal surges through her, coiling tightly in the pit of her stomach as Brittany breaks the kiss, leans up and then smiles down at her devilishly with sparkling blue eyes.

Brittany slips her hands down the valley of her own breasts, lingering dangerously around the curve of them and smirking when Santana's mouth drops open and hands snap to strong thighs. Santana doesn't even have time to admire just how damn sexy her girlfriend is before a tank top and bra is being thrown across her head and dropping behind her. Her eyes widen, scanning over every inch of Brittany's body and she inwardly wonders how the hell she got so damn lucky to have a girl like this, smiling down at her and loving her.

Seriously, there won't be a time where she'll ever _stop _wondering that.

Lips press against her own, a tongue flicking against her lower one and then she becomes very aware of what they're doing. Not that she wasn't before. Just that she was kind of distracted by the hotness of her girlfriend that it maybe slipped her mind for a split second. Her body's always seemed to kick in before her mind, though, and before she knows it a tongue is sliding past her lips and stroking the inside of her mouth with practised ease. It pulls a low, throaty groan from the pit of her stomach and her hips jerk up in reaction.

"Off," Brittany mumbles against Santana's lips as her hands reach down to grip at her shirt. "Now."

She doesn't argue. They've done enough of that already. Instead, she sits up a little, stretching her arms above her until Brittany whips off her top and bra and then they're skin to skin, warm flesh pressing against warm flesh and an irresistible spark flashing between them. She kisses Brittany again, never being able to get enough of it and feels hips press down against her own, highlighting how hard she is already after a minute of making out.

The speed in which Brittany affects her is almost ridiculous.

"That was quick," Brittany smirks against her lips, grinding down to emphasize her words as her hand slips down the dip of Santana's stomach and underneath the tight band of her girlfriend's jeans. It's moments like this that Santana seriously wishes skinny jeans didn't make her ass look so damn good, but God only knows these stupid, tight pants won't stop her from getting it on with her mega hot girlfriend.

That's grinding down on her...

Rotating her hips...

Rubbing up against her bulging crotch...

_Oh, God._

"You're seriously hot," she whispers breathlessly, tucking her thumbs into Brittany's leggings and pushing them down to her knees.

Brittany giggles, but she stops the sound with her lips and then they're kissing, hot and open mouthed and dry humping furiously like two horny teenagers. She's been with so many women, almost more than she can count. But there's never been anyone that can make her feel like this. No-one's ever made her feel so loved, so hot, so _everything _all at once. Except Brittany. It's almost insane.

Slender fingers make quick work of her jeans, and then they both realize how hard it is to remove their pants in this position, so they smile at each other quickly, kiss and then Brittany rolls off. Santana kicks her jeans off her ankles, and then shrugs down her boxers, and Brittany steps out her leggings and thong before they're moving back into the same position and kissing feverishly again, like they haven't kissed for years, not seconds. Her hips roll up, earning a low moan from Brittany and she grins, breaking the kiss when her cock twitches against her stomach and feels wet heat coat her shaft. She moves her lips down the long expanse of her girlfriend's neck, nipping gently and running her tongue over the space whilst her hand slides between their pressed bodies and her thumb rubs circles over Brittany's clit.

Brittany's hips jerk and twitch, her body buckling and falling on top of Santana's until her hands are grasping at tanned biceps and squeezing in rhythm to the movements. With her free hand, Santana glides it down Brittany's back, across her hip and down until her fingers are flexing against the flesh of her girlfriend's ass. Her thumb moves in slow motions, loving the way Brittany's hips try to move faster to quicken the pace and she knows just how much both of them want to skip too it.

But there's still that part, a tiny part, in the back of her mind that registers how she's not the only one to have her hands running across Brittany's body like this. How a month ago, the fingers touching Brittany would be a little rougher, the hands gripping at Brittany's perfect body would be larger and clumsier, and how the lips kissing her own would be pressed against ones that aren't soft enough, or worthy enough to be on Brittany's.

"San..." Brittany whines, pressing her forehead into Santana's shoulder and muffling small moans into the skin there. "Please..."

She sucks in her lips, smirking at herself when she dips her fingers lower and pushes two in until warm muscles are clenching around them. Brittany groans, her nails digging into tanned flesh and Santana smirks. Ignoring the ache in her dick that's practically begging her slip inside Brittany, she pulls back a little, staring up at her girlfriend and pushes their lips together as her fingers curl and strokes against wet heat.

"Santana..." Brittany warns, breathing shakily as her hips rotate around tanned fingers and lips quiver against lips. "Just..."

"Just what?"

The blonde pulls back, narrowing her eyes as she sees the clear intent of teasing Santana knows is flashing across her face. She grins, one side of her lips curling further than the other and Brittany bites on her bottom lip when Santana flicks her thumb against a hardened nub. It's almost worth prolonging the magical experience that is sex with Brittany if she gets to do this, and see Brittany like _that. _Creased eyebrows, knowing glare and utmost pleasure in dark, blue eyes. Teasing is like, _seriously _hot.

A hand wraps around her cock, and her stomach muscles tighten, back jerking forward slightly and back down again. Brittany's grinning down at her and she bites her lip, grinning because she knows that they're now both playing the same game. Shouldn't really come as a surprise though. Brittany knows her better than she knows herself and if she starts something, Brittany will be only tiny step behind.

They begin to move together, fingers curling and hands stroking in swift motions as they stare each other out. Waiting to see who'll give in first. Santana can't help but groan at the feeling of Brittany's hand working wonders on her rock hard cock and she swears she could come right now. It's kind of embarrassing, but they've been through way too much shit to even be the slightest bit of embarrassed and she kind of loves how they both lean in, smirking and smiling against each other's lips because they're thinking the same thing.

She decides to get one up and ducks her head, circling her tongue around a pert nipple and then taking it in her mouth. She resumes the movement, flicking against the peak and feeling the effects shudder at her girlfriend's muscles.

"_Mhmm," _Brittany moans. "_Fuck, Santana."_

Santana grin widens against the flesh because both of them know _exactly _how to push each other's buttons. Even if this is only their fourth time having sex together and that just intensifies everything by like, a thousand. It's just a little more proof that they were always meant to be together, really. Probably what makes this entire experience so damn special.

She narrows her eyes when the heat gets a little too much, and pulls away to bite on her bottom lip _hard. _Because Brittany's increasing her pace, and squeezing lightly at the tip of her dick which makes her fingers move a little faster. Even though she's pretty sure she could come, the way Brittany's mouth falls open, nose scrunches and eyebrows crease is enough to know that Santana won't be the first one. Her hips grind up, rolling to add extra pressure onto the back of her hand as her fingers twist and curl inside of Brittany's, touching _that _spot. Her thumb skims once, twice across Brittany's clit and then the warm, wet muscles clench and tighten around her fingers and then Brittany's face is falling forward, crunching together and body shaking and shuddering as her orgasm punches through her.

The movement on her cock stills, but she doesn't really care. She just watches. Watches in awe at how Brittany bites on her bottom lip and squeezes her eyes shut, a small smile playing at her lips like she knows Santana's watching her.

"_God..." _Brittany breathes out, panting heavily. "You're _so..._" she gulps, falling forward to press her forehead to Santana's shoulder. "_So _good at that."

Santana chuckles throatily and then grins. "I'm not finished yet," she says and feels Brittany smile against her skin, hand gliding down to grab at her abandoned dick that's still as hard as it was a moment ago.

Brittany pulls back, her blonde hair falling forward to curtain their faces. "Who said I was?" She smirks and begins her motions again, rubbing up Santana's shaft and tightening at the top.

However, just before the blonde leans forward and presses their lips together, hips rocking forward to accommodate Santana's cock, tanned hands shoot up, gripping a bicep and shoulder and rolling to flip them. Except, turns out, Santana didn't quite anticipate the width of the couch, and they both tumble down off the edge, landing with a thud on the floor. Both of them giggle, Santana pressing her forearms into the carpet of the floor beside Brittany's ribs to prop herself up a little.

She should be used to this now. Being so close to Brittany. Sure, they may have only been together for a matter of days, but in other ways, they've been together for years. The way Brittany looks at her with such adoration and love, shouldn't make the breath catch in her throat. Nor should she shudder at the way Brittany's legs part like she's offering all of herself, because they've done this before. But it does anyway.

"What?" Brittany mutters, shyly, turning her head to hide the blush.

Santana sees it anyway and leans forward to nuzzle her nose against her girlfriend's cheek. "Britt," she whispers, lips brushing against the ledge of Brittany's jaw as she moves down. "You are so beautiful," she begins pressing soft kisses to the underside of the blondes chin and then moves up and around until they brush over the corner of Brittany's lips, soft and sweet. "And you're everything I'm ever going to need and want."

She hears a sharp intake of breath, and then Brittany twists back towards her, fingers coming up and stroking against her cheek as they're cupped. Their eyes lock, searching and pushing past every defence mechanism and emotion until the only thing left is their souls. Naked and bare for each other to see. It should be a vulnerable feeling, and in some ways, she guesses it kind of is. But it's not a dangerous vulnerability. Not like when you tell someone a secret and hope to God they never take advantage of the knowledge. More like when you've been with a person for so long that you don't care about all your insecurities, and you could stand in front of them with scars and God knows what else... And they'd still think you're beautiful.

That's the way Brittany makes her feel. Every single time blue eyes look her way. She can only hope she makes Brittany feel the same when she looks at her.

"Te amaré por siempre _(I will love you forever)_," she whispers, a second before bringing their lips back together in a tender kiss.

Her hand strokes down Brittany's side, as pale arms wrap around her neck to bring her closer and then she's touching her girlfriend again, dipping into slick heat and stroking gently. She can feel herself grow even harder against Brittany's stomach and groans when hips roll up and ripple down her shaft.

"Condom," she whispers against Brittany's lips, hoping that one's going to magically appear because moving from her place between her beautiful girlfriend's thighs is _not _something she feels like doing right now.

Brittany pulls back, brow furrowing like she's thinking of the nearest place and then an idea sparks in Santana's head. Without shifting her lower half, she pushes her palms either side of Brittany's head and stretches up to reach for the sofa.

"What are you doing?" Brittany whispers from beneath her.

Santana giggles, ignoring the hot breath travelling over her breasts and tugs on the strap laying across the sofa cushions. "Getting the duffels," she replies, pulling until one lands on the floor and the zip pops open.

"Were we lying on those the whole time?" Brittany says through a chuckle.

"Apparently so," she replies, reaching inside the back pocket of the duffel and fishing for the golden square. She catches it between her fingers, which she notices are still a little wet and smirks, pulling back to settle down comfortably once more. Leaning on her elbows, she brings the packet in front of their faces and grins down when a pale hand clutches around her wrist, and another takes the condom.

"Allow me," Brittany says, feigning a posh accent as she tears the wrapper between her teeth (which, by the way, is _seriously _hot) and then pushes both hands between their bodies to reach the destination.

Santana smirks, threading the fingers of one hand through splayed out blonde locks whilst the other pushes on Brittany's hip gently to lift herself, watching the condom roll expertly over her dick. Heat builds up in the pit of her stomach and when Brittany's hands slide up, along her back to curl around her neck to pull her into a deep kiss, she feels it tighten and coil.

She moves from Brittany's hip, and grips herself, stroking a few times before she shifts up and glides her cock between slick folds. She remembers the way it felt without a barrier, and her eyes flutter shut, fingers tightening and scraping gently against Brittany's scalp as their lips break.

Making love to Brittany without a condom was fucking _incredible._

Not that _this _isn't, anyway.

Her eyes flicker up just in time to catch Brittany staring at her impatiently, her fingers twitching where they've taken residence on Santana's cheek in anticipation.

"Santan-"

Santana flashes a smirk before sliding inside and burying herself hilt deep inside her girlfriend. Brittany's eyes widen, mouth drops open and her back arches slightly until their bodies are pressed together so tightly, she's pretty sure even Sherlock Holmes couldn't figure out where one body begins and one ends.

There's no words to describe how unbelievably amazing it feels to be inside of Brittany. Of how hands clutch at her like they've jumped off a boat and she's Brittany's life saving ring. It's mind-blowing, and when they're together like this, Santana's not aware of anything but the way Brittany feels around her – warm, tight and welcoming.

She takes a deep breath, and begins to pull out at a painfully slow pace, before thrusting back in with all she has. It's deep, and emotional, and so fucking powerful that she's awestruck that she's able to do this after so long. The hand she has curled into blonde lock tightens, and she pumps her hips, sliding in and out with a practised rhythm that she knows Brittany loves and groans when thighs squeeze at her hips, begging for more.

Pressing their lips together, she feels hands grip at the small of her back to pull them tighter together and grins. They may have only done this a few times before, but she already knows exactly what Brittany's asking of her without the need for words. She fucking loves that. Rolling her hips, she slides one hand down the length of her girlfriend's body, skating down ribs and across the protrusion of Brittany's hip until her fingers can curl around the back of the blondes thigh and lift.

They bump slightly, but then Santana drops deeper between the V of Brittany's thighs and feels their hips press against each other tightly.

"_Oh my God..." _Brittany stutters out through ragged breaths as her nails dig into Santana's back.

"_Mmm..." _Santana groans, ducking her head to run her tongue along her girlfriend's pulse point. "You're so fucking..." she picks up the pace, pounding into Brittany as she keeps a hold of her girlfriend and clenches her eyes shut at the heat that pricks at her skin. "You feel... so... _maravilloso..."_

When Brittany muffles a moan, Santana pulls back and sees her girlfriend's face screwed up and chest heaving heavily. Not because of the thrusts, either. She grins, open mouthed, because this is like, one of the best things she's ever witnessed and _will _ever witness, and pants when Brittany's body twitches at a particularly deep thrust. Hips jut into her own, and she feels her own orgasm approach fast with the combination of tight heat around her cock and Brittany enjoying every pump of her hips.

She slides a hand between their bodies, pressing two fingers into Brittany's clit and rubbing in circles that match the pace of her thrusting hips. Sweat builds upon her brow, and she buries her face into the crook of Brittany's neck as she works double time, the muscles in her forearm aching as she flicks her tip against a hardened nub and stills, buried deep inside of Brittany to hold for a few seconds.

"_Saaan..." _Brittany groans, lifting her other leg to wrap until her ankles lock at the small of Santana's back, urging the brunette on.

Santana grins, knowing what Brittany's asks and pulls back, bracing herself on one hand beside her girlfriends head whilst the other resumes on the circular motions. Her eyes focus on flat abs, twitching as she rolls her hips, stomach rippling with the movement and grins when Brittany answers the combined movement with breathy moans and tightening fingers that have a grip on her waist.

"Santana," Brittany pants, hips rolling with every thrust. "_Santana_."

The feeling of her orgasm rapidly approaches Santana and it spikes her veins, sending pleasure spiral through her body. Brittany's breathing picks up and she doesn't forgo her movement, only picks it up until she's pounding into her girlfriend, thumb swirling around her clit and pressing until Brittany's body stills and breath hitches.

The warm, wet grip around her cock tightens and tugs slightly until she's groaning, falling forward and coming hard. She feels herself roll as every last drop spills into the condom and continues to grind, despite her body arguing from exhaustion, to prolong both their orgasms. Fingers tighten against her flesh, gripping on for dear life until she's pretty sure there's going to be marks there as Brittany jerks and twitches in the aftermath of her orgasm.

Santana buckles when both of them stop shuddering, and grins against the glistening skin of Brittany's neck, salty from sweat, when she hears her name roll of Brittany's lips through a moan. Leaning up, she steals a sloppy and quick kiss because there's no way in hell anyone can ever make either of them feel the way each other do. And when her kiss is returned, she knows that Brittany knows the same.

* * *

><p>It's later, when Santana's summoned enough energy to grab the blanket from the back of the sofa to tug over their bodies, that she realizes just how pathetic she is. She doesn't care that Brittany slept with someone else, or that she herself slept with other people, because the past is the past. It doesn't matter who was their first, or second, or thirteenth or whatever, because all that matters is that they're each other's last.<p>

Because _this _is what happiness is.

Lying beside the person she loves, watching Brittany sleep and feeling the heat of her skin tingle her own. This is what happiness is, being able to just gaze at Brittany as the blonde's in her most peaceful, innocent and vulnerable state. Being able to smile, and lean in to press her lips to Brittany so gently that she doesn't wake her girlfriend. Being able to shift and slide her hand across the warm skin of her girlfriend's waist, rest her forehead against Brittany's and breathe in each other like they depend on it.

Because Santana knows that it doesn't get any better than this.

And even if it did, she wouldn't ever want it to.


	29. chapter twenty nine

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Twenty Nine]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary: <strong>They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>12.8k  
><strong>AN: **Thanks to my beta! Awesome _as always._

* * *

><p>Santana wakes up in the morning to a pair of soft lips grazing the ledge of her jaw, and a hand delicately tickling up and down the length of her forearm. A grin threatens to tug at her lips, but she keeps still. Content to lie and bathe in Brittany's adoration.<p>

Seriously, she loves these moments. These moments when she knows how loved she is. Where she can just imagine how Brittany's looking at her and how when those perfect lips skim up her cheek towards her ear, it's so she can hear the soft sigh that escapes Brittany's lips.

"I know you're awake," she hears, lips brushing against the shell of her ear as Brittany's body sinks further into her own.

She smiles, lets out an airy sigh and battles the grogginess that tugs at the back of her mind. "_Hmm_," she makes a noise of acknowledgement and lifts one arm to stretch above her head, palm to the headboard to pop her bones back into place.

Her other is wrapped around Brittany, and right now, her fingertips are resting just shy of her girlfriend's ass, so she's in no position to move. Her fingers flex against the wood of the headboard and her back arches against the mattress. The muscles in her arms and thighs ache, but in the best way possible and the grin on her face widens as she remembers their journey towards the bedroom. It may have taken a while, with all those lingering touches and small tickle fights in the hallway that ended with a steamy make-out session on the hardwood floor, but they got there.

Blinking, she cracks open her eyes and parts her lips when sparkling blue eyes greet her. "Hola hermosa ," she croaks out, hoping it sounds a lot sexier than she heard it in her mind. Brittany blushes, so she thinks it does.

"Hi," is whispered shyly into the crook of her neck.

She lets out a small chuckle, shuffles, feeling the warmth of Brittany's body move around her own and pulls them both until they're both on their sides and staring at each other. With one hand, she reaches up, and rakes her fingernails through the golden hair by Brittany's temple, back until she can dip down to the nape of her girlfriend's neck. Brittany shudders, breath trembling against Santana's jaw and Santana shuffles forward until their hipbones bump and legs tangle underneath the sheets.

"And how are we this morning?" She nuzzles her nose against the crown of Brittany's head and nudges up.

Brittany looks up sheepishly, tucking her hands between their bodies and running her forefinger down the valley of Santana's breasts. She sucks in a sharp, shaky breath.

"I'm amazing," Brittany mutters. "And you?" She looks up hopefully and licks her lips.

Santana doesn't answer. Instead, she ducks her head and bumps their noses together softly before pressing their lips together. It's slow, lazy, but so, _so _soft.. Everything a morning kiss should be. Brittany sighs into the kiss, her entire body melting into Santana's as a tanned hand runs down a creamy ribcage, a hand taking residence on the protrusion of Brittany's hip.

The bed dips as the kiss deepens, and Santana grips at Brittany's hip, tugging until her back presses against the mattress and the blonde gets the hint to bracket tanned hips between her thighs. Santana smiles into the kiss, sighing out as her fingertips dance their way up strong thighs, thumbs rubbing along the crease of Brittany's thigh and tongue dipping past lips. Slender fingers trail up her chest and collarbone, around the base of her neck where they curl to pull tighter, the kiss turning and developing into a hot, opened mouthed one that makes her body shudder and muscles ripple.

With the need for oxygen, the kiss breaks, and Santana's lips breath heavily against Brittany's lips as their foreheads tip together. One hand loosens from her neck, and she grabs it with her own, sliding their clasped hands down until Brittany's palm is pressing up against the left of her chest. Over her pounding heart, and then it's like something illuminates inside of Santana. Her insides sparks like a firework in the darkest of nights and surges around her body like spikes of adrenaline. She watches Brittany's eyes drift down, and mouth quirk as she takes in the thumping beneath their hands, and she sucks on her lower lip, eagerly anticipating and hoping that this single gesture will answer the question with a better answer than she could have ever come up with.

"Your heart..." Brittany murmurs, lowly, their lips meeting again briefly.

Santana wraps her free arm around her girlfriend's body, pulling at the small of her back until there's no space between them and keeps a hold on Brittany's hand, still pressed to her chest.

"Is yours," she finishes, even though she knows that wasn't what Brittany was going for. "Forever."

A small, guttural sound comes from Brittany's throat as her eyes flutter shut and she shakes her head, brows pulling together and lips disappearing into a warm mouth. "I don't know how," Brittany whispers, "But you make me fall even more in love with you every single day," she shakes her head like she can't quite believe it, then opens her eyes and stares deeply into warm chocolate orbs. "Even when I thought I couldn't love you more than I do."

Santana groans happily, rolls over and onto Brittany until her stiffening member is pressing into the 'v' of Brittany's thighs and she presses her lips to soft, warm ones. Her lips muffle the words she wants to say, but she's kind of glad because there's no phrase or sentence that could ever justify her love for Brittany. So instead of telling Brittany how much she loves her, she just shows her instead.

They don't leave the bedroom for another two hours.

* * *

><p>The weeks go by quickly. Apparently time really does fly when you're having fun.<p>

It's still kind of surreal, being with Brittany. Santana still thinks that she's going to wake up, face buried into the cushion of her couch with an empty Jack Daniels bottle clinking as it rolls around on the floor. She still thinks that one day the dream will be over and she'll pick up a crisp white invitation with _"You are cordially invited to Michael Chang and Brittany Susan Pierce's wedding..." _and feel her entire world crumble around her.

So she doesn't let one day go by without telling Brittany just how lucky she is. Brittany's eyes always go soft in that way that Santana knows she thinks she's being cute, and then it takes less than three seconds to press their lips together and prove that love.

Everyday just feels like a dream. A blonde, blue eyed and incredibly gorgeous dream.

* * *

><p><strong>5 and a bit months later...<strong>

Santana has her fingers tangled through Brittany's hair, tugging lightly at the roots whilst she bites down hard on her own bottom lip. The first time they did this, Santana never thought Brittany could even get any fucking better. But six months later, and she's still managing to blow Santana's mind. Literally.

"_Baby..." _Santana breathes out, throwing her head back against the pillow whilst a warm velvety tongue glides up the side of her shaft. It makes arousal swirl and multiply in her stomach, the heat pooling low in her belly and spreading throughout her body as her back arches and neck stretches. A light slapping noise invades the against her stomach as Brittany pulls up, licking her lips and smirking devilishly up at Santana who's panting heavily. She barely even has time to suck in a breath before a hand takes over, curling around her stiff cock and moving at a rapid but gentle pace.

This is probably not what should be happening. Not only because it's their six month anniversary today, but also because it's Brittany's birthday. But it's not like she could push Brittany away when she woke up with morning wood and perfect pink lips wrapped around her dick, could she? That'd just be rude.

So here she is, laying flat on her back with Brittany between her legs, gasping for air and trying to suck in any oxygen available even though it seems there isn't enough in the room. Six months of practising this. This thing that for the past decade or so, had just been sex. That up until sleeping with Brittany, had just _been _sex or fucking, not making love. But now she's here, with Brittany, and has been for six glorious months. Practising what was already perfect. It's only made what they have like a million times better. Even when Santana thought that weren't possible.

Just as she feels the prickling heat diminish slightly on her skin, warm lips press to the tip of her dick and she drops one of her hands from Brittany's hair, clenching and twisting it into the bedsheets instead. The effect Brittany has on her is kind of ridiculous, and she knows that Brittany knows that too. Hence the small giggle that comes from down her body when Santana lets out a low moan, pulled from the deepest pits of her chest.

Her mouth drops open when the heat coils and gets almost too hot, low in her stomach. Her throat aches and her lungs burn for fresh air, but it feels so damn good. Brittany's tongue works its way around her shaft, stroking lightly, flicking at the tip and then mouth engulfing her entire length until lips press to the base of her shaft. Something catches in the back of her throat and her abs tighten, the end nearing as white spots begin to form on the back of her eyelids.

"_Britt-" _Santana chokes on the air and forces the back of her head _hard _into the pillow as Brittany bobs her head up and down, faster and faster. "_I'm gonna-"_

Her hips arch up, craving for more contact and Brittany does just that, her lips encasing the whole of Santana's dick once more until Santana feels the tip hit the back of her girlfriend's throat. Fire bursts inside of her and her toes curl as Brittany's tongue drags achingly slow up her dick, warm mouth retracting until the only part it's covering is the tip. Santana grazes her nails lightly against Brittany's scalp and marvels in the way her girlfriend knows _exactly _what to do to get her to come. One small suck and flick of her tongue, and then she's gone.

She twists her hand tighter into the sheets until she's pretty sure her fingers have made a damn hole in the fabric and clenches a little tighter into Brittany's hair with her other hand. Brittany - who Santana's pretty sure is smirking - ducks her head and then Santana's whole dick is enveloped in a velvety warm mouth as she empties herself – pouring every last drop into her girlfriend's mouth and grunting her way through the implosion behind her eyelids.

She presses as close as possible and squeezes her eyes shut at the softness that runs up and down her shaft expertly, swiping up her come. Her entire body jolts and jerks, legs quivering violently as surges of pleasure pulse through her and make every nerve inside of her body spark with electricity. She goes on for as long as she can. Until her back begins to ache from its bowed position. Until her toes begin to reject the hardness in which she's curling them. And until her knuckles feel like they're about to pop out her skin.

When all is said and done, her body falls limp, flat onto the mattress and she pants heavily. Her fingers slowly release from the sheets, and she feels her muscles ache and protest from her previous movements, but she doesn't really care. That was fucking _amazing _(definitely an understatement).

"You know-" she licks her lips and feels the heat drain from her face when Brittany crawls back up her body. "You know it's _your _birthday, right?"

Brittany scrunches up her nose and smiles. Her golden hair is cascading over her shoulders, curtaining around Santana's face so they're in their own little bubble. Santana lifts her hands, gripping gently on her girlfriend's waist and tugging until the blonde straddles her lap and lowers her face until they're kissing. It's gentle, and smooth. Mouths open and tongues glide across each other, Santana moaning at the taste lingering in her girlfriends mouth and Brittany giggling.

Her entire body is still buzzing with the aftermath of her orgasm, and admittedly, she's a little tired now, but it's Brittany's birthday. Nothing can fucking stop her from giving Brittany her first "_present_**" **of the day, come hell or high water.

Occupied with the feeling of Brittany's tongue tracing the memorized contours of her mouth, Santana slides her hand down her girlfriend's naked body, over the dimples in her lower back and over the curve of her butt. Clutching at the soft skin of Brittany's ass, Santana pulls Brittany into herself, kissing her back with everything she has and trying to gain the dominance she needs to be able to give her girlfriend her _present._

"Britt-" Santana manages to mumble around her girlfriend's lips. The attempt fails, because her body always gives into Brittany (especially her lips) and she kisses back for long moments, tilting her head to deepen it and slip her tongue into the other woman's mouth. Her tongue curls, grazes along the edge of sharp teeth and she smirks as her middle finger stretches out – from where it's resting at the skin that joins Brittany's ass and thigh – and glides through slick heat.

Brittany buckles, her kisses growing sloppy as Santana continues her movements, dipping her fingertip in a little and rotating slightly. It's always made Brittany go crazy, touching her that is, but there's a little smugness inside Santana that tells her that it's not the touching that's doing it, or the methods in which she uses. It's just her.

"S-San..." Brittany hisses, pulling her lips into her own mouth and resting her forehead against Santana's chin.

Santana grins, stretching her arm further until she can push her middle finger into her girlfriend, knuckle deep. Warmth encompasses her finger and she almost groans herself at the tightness pulsing around her digit, but she doesn't. This is about pleasing Brittany now. She's had her turn, and she wasn't even supposed to have it anyway.

Nudging Brittany's face up with her nose, Santana presses their lips together and rolls in one swift motion. Brittany squeaks as Santana retracts her finger, gliding it up her thigh and over to the inside, to return it once more. Smiling against pink lips, she dips her tongue into her girlfriend's mouth, ignoring the arousal that burns in her stomach and rocks up – feeling her cock stiffening once more. It's sort of incredible in a really odd way how quickly Brittany can make Santana 'reload'. Sort of like a strange skill.

She kisses Brittany until they're both breathless. Until both their lips are swollen from flicking tongues and small sucking motions. Then she pulls away, inhaling deeply through her nose and peppering small kisses around Brittany's face, earning small giggles and playful swats of a hand.

"Stop, stop, stop," Brittany says through a chuckle, wrinkling her nose and whipping her head from side to side to stop the kiss attack.

Santana just continues though. Sliding her hands up to her girlfriend's and threading their fingers together, , tugging until they're in an arc above Brittany's hair - which is splayed like a halo across the white of the pillow. Her kisses descend down the expanse of a creamy neck, licking and sucking gently, making sure to pay extra attention to Brittany's throbbing pulse which flutters rapidly beneath her lips. She smirks against the skin and nuzzles her nose when she takes her mouth away.

"Happy birthday, baby" she whispers, brushing her lips up across Brittany's jaw, over her chin and back to her lips.

Brittany smiles softly, her eyes shining with sheer adoration. The corners of her lips curl into a small, appreciative smile, and Santana feels the urge to kiss her. So she does. She props herself up on one elbow, and brings the other up to Brittany's cheek, cupping it lightly before bringing their lips together. It's ever so soft, and so slow that Santana almost loses herself in the feel of warm lips pressing against hers... But then she thinks back to where they are, and what day it is and pulls away.

Skimming her lips along Brittany's cheek, she pokes out her tongue and flicks it against the shell of Brittany's ear. She then whispers, "Turn over," quietly. To which she pulls back and sees a smirk and dark blue eyes gazing back at her.

That's something she's loved even more than she thought she could over the past six months. In terms of their relationship, whether it be to do with sex or just a random event, they've learnt to ask no questions and to just trust one another. It's not like they didn't to begin with, because they were best friends and to be able to have that friendship – trust is a must. But with a relationship and sex and all that jazz, comes another type of trust. Comes the vulnerability trust. The one where she can open up with all her desires and her wants. To where she can teach Brittany about the ways of her body (even though Brittany doesn't even fucking need it) and learn about Brittany's in turn (she doesn't really need it either, but it's always there.)

Pushing her palms into the space beside Brittany's hips, Santana pulls herself up and rests on her knees, watching as her girlfriend flips around and lies stomach down onto the bed. All the blood in Santana's body shoots straight to her groin when she sees Brittany's sex, glistening in the light as strong thighs part. She doesn't even hold herself back and reaches out, cups one of her girlfriend's ass cheeks and runs her thumb pad down through the moisture – sucking in a sharp breath when she feels just how _wet _Brittany is.

Even after all this time, it still surprises her how quickly she and Brittany can get fired up for each other.

"What are _you-_," Brittany breathes out and props herself up on her elbows, shaking her head gently. She twists her neck until she can look at Santana, who reaches down her own body and cups her cock, running her hand up and down her shaft gently. She'd be content with just touching herself whilst looking at Brittany, but she can see the want in blue eyes and knows it reflects in hers – not to mention this is _Brittany's _birthday. Getting the blonde off is top priority.

"What are you doing?" Brittany repeats, biting her bottom lip when Santana slides her hand across and gathers her index and middle finger to run through slick folds once more.

Santana smirks at how her girlfriend's body shudders underneath her and leans forward, but not quite enough to press her breasts down onto a pale back. Her head dips, enough so her lips graze across Brittany's ear once more, but she has to jerk her hips up when the tip of her dick rubs across the dip in her girlfriend's back.

"Do you trust me?" It's a stupid question, because she already knows the answer.

Brittany cocks a brow and smiles as if to say _really? _Santana just chuckles and nuzzles her nose into her girlfriend's shoulder, grazing her lips lightly before pulling back. Lowering one hand to the mattress beside Brittany's hip, she slides back a little and looks down to their bodies. Her hand wraps around her stiff shaft, stroking lightly as her eyes fixate on her girlfriend's core.

_Shit. _She's totally the fucking luckiest person in the whole damn world.

To prove that point, she lowers herself, allowing her entire torso to press against Brittany's back. Brittany pushes back and Santana slides her hand around to her girlfriend's chin, gently tilting with one finger to press their lips together. It's an awkward angle, but it's only a short kiss, so when she pulls away, she resumes the kisses down Brittany's back. Worshipping every inch of skin there is. Her tongue pokes out, swiping over the now goosebump covered skin and grins when she catches Brittany bring her hands up to the pillow and grips it tightly.

Her kisses move further down Brittany's back, into the dip in her spine and over the notches there. She shifts her weight onto her legs, using her thigh muscles and abs to keep herself up as she sinks further and further down her girlfriend's body. Santana widens her lips, allowing herself to press open mouthed kisses instead of small pecks with the intent of savouring and worshipping every last inch of Brittany's perfect body.

Dragging her tongue over Brittany's flush skin, and loving the sweet, warm taste that's just _so _Brittany – Santana runs her hand down her girlfriend's ribs and back up again. She shudders, eyes rolling into the back of her head and slips her hand between the mattress and Brittany, teasing her fingers across a hardened nipple. Brittany bucks back into her, but she presses down with her chest, pinning the blonde to the bed as she finally gets down to her girlfriend's ass.

She spares one last swipe up the dip in her back and then pulls back, sitting up onto her knees and staring down at Brittany. Her throbbing member aches to be touched, and she knows by the way Brittany's panting heavily, that she's aching to be touched too. So, deciding to stop with the preparation, she whispers; "Are you ready?" and is responded to with a fast nod.

Heart thumping loudly in her chest, she nudges Brittany's legs a little further apart with her knees, marvelling in the flush that scorches across her skin and makes her cock twitch with anticipation. She retracts her hands, ignoring the way Brittany groans against the lack of contact and grins.

(That _still _drives her crazy and like triples the arousal swirling inside of her. )

Balling her fists, she presses them into the mattress beside Brittany's waist and lowers her hips, groaning when her stiff cock brushes over her girlfriend's thigh.

_(Another _thing that drives her crazy – how one simple touch can make her entire body feeling like it's on fire.)

Shuffling her limbs until she's steadied herself enough to take one hand away, she brings it down to her erection and licks her lips, eagerly anticipating what's to come.

"You're _so _beautiful," she whispers, tilting her hips until the tip of her dick is hovering dangerously close to Brittany's soaking sex.

Brittany lets out a small whimper, and Santana doesn't wait for any other response. Instead, shifting forward and pushing into her girlfriend in one swift thrust, until her hips mould around the curve of Brittany's ass. Brown eyes snap shut, and fingers clench as she realizes just how fucking _deep _she is, and she lets out a heavy groan – one which is mirrored by Brittany. Only a little lower as it's muffled into the pillow.

Wet heat is encompassing her cock, pulsing and massaging and it makes everything multiply in heat and arousal because she seriously can't fucking believe they've never tried _this _before.

Taking Brittany from behind was always one of her fantasies. One that's grown over the last few months of their relationship. But she never really how to make love to her whilst doing it doggy style. Personally, she thought it was always a little degrading. Being fucked like a dog. But since that FHM magazine (that she may or may not have read last week)... Since she read that article that explained a sensual method in which she could take Brittany from behind... The crave to fulfil and try out this tip has been building inside of her. Hour by hour. Day by day.

And in _this _position, not only can she make love to Brittany, but she can do absolutely everything she can to get Brittany to the highest climax possible _and _fulfil her own wants.

Win-win-win.

(Not to mention the bonus of Brittany going on birth control a few months back – which means double the pleasure for both of them.)

"_God," _she gasps, lowering herself until their bodies are pressed tightly together. Her hands slip up the sheets, sliding over the backs of Brittany's hands and threading their fingers together backwards. They're in an arc above the blonde head of hair, and Santana allows both of them to adjust to the feeling of such a deep connection for a few seconds.

"_Fuck,"_Brittany breathes out, her voice low and raspy. "_Fuck _S-_an... _you're so fucking..."

The blondes words die off, and Santana steals a quick glance to spot the pure pleasure etching its way across her girlfriend's features. Seeing that is just like, _unbelievable. _Brittany's already the most beautiful thing in the world, but a pleasured Brittany is just... _fuck. _She can barely even describe what it does to her.

Tipping her neck down, she presses her forehead to the space between Brittany's shoulder blades and begins to slowly rotate her hips.

Sparks of pleasure surge through her, heightening her nerves and illuminating the arousal that's coiling lower in her belly. She moves slowly, pulling out only the smallest of bits before pushing back in and rolling her hips once more. Brittany mashes her cheek into the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut and sucking her lips into her mouth to hold back the moans Santana _knows_are there.

She flexes her muscles, tightening the ones in her ass as she pulls out and pushes back in, a little faster this time. Her hips continue to rotate and roll, skin sticking to each other from the light layer of sweat already building over both of them. And she can't help but rock in the laziest of rhythms as if there's no reason in the world to hurry. There isn't, and she wants to move slowly to prolong Brittany's pleasure. But this is something she can only describe as pure bliss. Something she wants to savour every second of as her hard member glides in and out of Brittany's core.

Her fingertips curl into the Brittany's palm, and she raises their intertwined hands a little, pressing down harder with each dragged out thrust to gain the utmost control. From the slightly damp hair on the back of Brittany's neck, to the way her face is contorting as Santana moves inside of her, Santana can't help but find herself amazed by the woman beneath her. Amazed that she's able to share this. That they're able to have this, after all of the trials and tribulations they've endured.

"S'nta_-nah..." _Brittany groans, tilting her hips down and pushing her ass up slightly.

Santana smirks, and pulls her head back to see the tell-tale signs of a creased brow and perfect white teeth biting down hard on a pink lip, telling her to pick up her pace. So she lifts her torso, the entire expanse of her chest feeling instantly ice cold as her hands push against Brittany's to keep herself up. Needing to find some grounding, she pulls their intertwined hands down beside Brittany's shoulders, pulls her knees up to dig into the mattress between Brittany's legs and begins to rock her hips faster and faster, pressing Brittany's pelvis further into the mattress with every deep thrust.

"_Uh-uh," _Brittany rolls her hips into the mattress and squeaks at a particularly deep thrust.

Her hands squeeze at Brittany's when she hears the blonde utter a startled gasp, and silently asks if she's alright with the simple nose nudge, in which Brittany answers with a feverish nod_. _And for some strange reason, that even she doesn't know of, it strikes her just how much she loves this.

_God... _She _really_fucking loves this.

Loves the way their bodies move together perfectly. Loves how they can silently converse, even in the most intense, passionate moments together. Loves how she feels around Brittany and how Brittany smiles at her when she offers a single glance.

She just loves Brittany. Unconditionally.

The sound of skin slapping against skin interrupts her thoughts and she sees her girlfriend turn her head, bury it into the pillow in front of her and groan loudly into the fabric. The image shoots straight to Santana's groin, multiplying her arousal, and she grunts, pumping her hips a little faster than before – but with the same tender and care.

"_Shit, Britt'ny," _she pants, her brow lining with a layer of sweat as the heat tightens and burns low in her belly.

Heat pricks around her face, reddening her cheeks and she purses her lips into an 'o', blowing out an invisible stream of air as she slows her thrusts. Arms aching, Santana lowers herself, pressing her entire torso into Brittany's back and sinking deeper into her girlfriend.

"_Oh, S'ntana-" _Brittany squeaks when Santana feels the tip of her member prod against the walls of her girlfriend's cervix. **"**You're s_-oh..." _the blonde gasps sharply when Santana slows her thrusts and draws them out, hitting the spot she knows will drive Brittany crazy. "You're so de-ep_... uh."_

Pulling out and inhaling deeply, she slides in once more, her entire cock disappearing between wet heat until her hips meet the curve of Brittany's ass. They both groan at the roll of her hips, and once again, a high pitched squeak comes from Brittany.

"_Oh my, oh my..." _Brittany mutters quickly, sucking in her lips.

Lips brushing over the salty skin of a pale back, Santana drags herself out again, before pushing back in, just as deep as before. She repeats once, twice, and then three times until she feels the walls around her dick tighten and spasm. One last glacial thrust of her hips, and a kiss to a pale shoulder, Brittany descends over the edge.

"_Fuck, _Santan-_ah_!" Brittany practically screams into the pillow as Santana thrusts her hips with one last drawn out movement and presses her lips down onto a pale shoulder. It sends the blonde spiralling over the edge and into an overwhelming orgasm and Santana pauses still, knowing she's only seconds behind.

Arching into the brunette above, Brittany lifts her head off the pillow and Santana releases the left one their intertwined hands to slip beneath her girlfriend's body and curl around her waist. She pulls them together tightly until there's no space between them. The coil in her stomach sharply tightens as the muscles around her member clench and Brittany releases a string of hissed words as her body begins to quake and shudder.

Santana presses her fingertips into her girlfriend's ribs, tucking her chin over a pale shoulder and holding on as she keeps herself buried deep inside of Brittany – her own orgasm rapidly approaching. Snapping her eyes shut, she feels Brittany's teeth grit together as her ass grinds back into Santana and it tips her over the edge. The mind-numbingly brilliant edge that she's only ever managed to reach with Brittany.

Tightening her grip around Brittany's right hand, which are still clasped together, she presses her lips hard into the ridge of her girlfriend's shoulder and pushes down with her entire body. Brittany whimpers and squeaks as Santana empties herself inside her girlfriend, feeling the warmth pool around the top half of her cock and mix with Brittany's.

Exhausted and breathless, their bodies both fall limp and the room is left with the sounds of their ragged breaths and more than satisfied smiles.

* * *

><p>"You're aware we have dinner with your brother in about an hour, right? And you're not even halfway to getting ready?"<p>

Santana grins into the pillow, twists her face until her cheek's pressing into it and stares at her girlfriend. "In all fairness," she purrs, stretching her arms that are tucked underneath the pillow until the bones in her elbow pop back into place. Sliding them out, she throws one over Brittany's midsection and grips at her hip to roll them until Brittany's astride her, strong creamy thighs bracketing her hips. Her palms glide up the smooth skin and back down again as she answers; "You're not ready either. So we couldn't even leave if we wanted to."

"Tony's going to be mad," Brittany replies, before her face twists as she processes Santana's words. "_And _the only reason I'm not ready is because _you_ keep distracting me."

Brittany lowers her face as she speaks and presses her hands into the headboard above Santana until their breasts brush against one another. Thinking she's about to be kissed, Santana wets her lips and pouts a little, but then Brittany giggles and no kiss comes – so she scrunches up her nose as if she's not amused by the action.

"Mean bean," she grumbles, poking at her girlfriend's ribs and feeling her buckle beneath her touch. Her hands come up to stroke along the length of toned arms. "And I'm not distracting you, I'm saying happy birthday," she smirks and rolls her eyes with a shrug. "Just not with words."

Brittany chuckles and shakes her head at the same time.

"And, you _do _have the power to say no."

"But that'd just be rude," Brittany muses, winking. "And I'm quite liking my birthday so far."

"Quite?" Santana gasps, feigning offence. "I thought I did a pretty good job. Well," she pauses and bites her lip in mock thought. "Judging by your squeaks and squeals and _'oh Santana's'_ anyway," she says, mimicking Brittany's voice as much as possible through half-chuckles.

This time it's Brittany gasping as her pale cheeks redden. "Santana!"

"What?" She grins, feeling her chest bump against Brittany's as she laughs. "I'm just saying!"

She removes her hands off Brittany's thighs and grabs at the hands swatting her biceps. Curling her fingers around slender wrists, she tugs until their flush against one another, tips of their noses brushing and forehead pressed together and nuzzles lightly. All she sees is blue and it does something inside of her that makes her want to throw her head back and groan at how ridiculously in love she is.

"But seriously," she lowers her voice and switches on the serious mode. "Happy birthday, Britt," she sucks in a deep breath, feeling their chests move together and twines their fingers through each other. "I wish you all the love and happiness in the world and I hope you have the best day."

Brittany sighs loudly, pulls her brows together slightly and sucks in her smiling lips, with nothing but sheer adoration on her face. She pushes as Santana's shoulders, and moves into a sitting position whilst her blue eyes gloss over and her entire body relaxes and deflates as she stares down at the brunette.

Santana's heart flips and flops over and over at the sight of Brittany gazing at her with such love, because it's times like these, with Brittany looking at her like _this... _It just reminds her how fucking lucky she is to be able to call Brittany her own. To be able to say Brittany's _her _girlfriend. _Her _love. _Her _soul mate.

She doesn't think she'll ever get used what Brittany does to her. Nor how she makes her feel.

(She also remembers how many times Brittany used to look at her like this. Before they were together.)

"Well, I'm not sure if the rest of the day is going to be great," Brittany replies, softly, interrupting Santana's thoughts.

Confused, Santana brings the back of Brittany's hand to her mouth and kisses it. She stares into piercing blue eyes and almost loses herself, and her words, but recovers when Brittany shuffles slightly, wiggling her pelvis into a tanned one absently.

"What do you mean?"

Brittany half-shrugs, swinging their hands from side to side lightly. The back of her thumb brushing across tanned abs. "It's already been the best day, ever."

Santana lets out a groan before sitting up, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend's waist and allows pale arms to slink over her shoulder to cuddle back. She pulls them together in a tight embrace, burying her face into the valley of Brittany's breasts and breathes in the scent of her vanilla and honey scented skin. It's not even shower gel. Just Brittany. Her natural scent is so calm and soothing, and better than any product available to buy or make.

"I am so in love with you," she mumbles into her girlfriend's skin, stretching her neck slightly to press a kiss to the hollow of Brittany's throat.

Something flutters inside her stomach, and even though she's used to her bodily reactions, it still sort of surprises her. Whenever she says those words, it always bursts something inside of her. Like a brand new bubble of Brittany love that's been tucked away somewhere inside of her for all these years. Building and expanding, even now, with every second they spend together. And with every bubble comes a million more reasons to why she loves Brittany. A million more reasons to pile onto the billions she already has.

She pulls away, with the intent to move Brittany and to stand. But then Brittany traces her fingertips around her neck and down between the valley of her own breasts, and maybe all thoughts of her brother and how pissed he is at their disgraceful punctuality skips out her mind. Pretty lucky really, because then Brittany chuckles and leans down to press their lips together.

"We're gonna be late," she mumbles as she turns Brittany and presses her into the mattress, slipping in between her thighs at the same time.

Brittany just shrugs, runs her hands through dark locks and tangles them there. "It's my birthday," she grins before bringing their mouths back together. They kiss for a long moment before Brittany breaks away, barely an inch and whispers, "we can totally be a little late," into Santana's mouth.

Santana really doesn't have a fucking problem with that.

* * *

><p>So maybe they're more than a little late.<p>

It's just really fucking hard to watch Brittany walk to the bathroom, stark fucking naked, throw a seductive glance over her shoulder and then bite her finger between perfect teeth as she sways her hips in a way that she _knows _will drive Santana fucking crazy. _Especially_ when she's just suggested a shower together to 'clean themselves off'.

They stayed in their double the amount of time they were supposed to, and 'cleaned off' at least another four times before even making an attempt to leave.

But here they are. Dressed in 'smart/casual' clothes, as per Santana's own request, standing outside 'Gio Gio' – one of the most expensive Italian restaurants in the Big Apple and renound for it's ridiculously amazing food – staring at each other and trying to persuade one another to go in first.

"You should go in first," Santana insists, nudging her shoulders into Brittany's. "If I go in first, Tony's gonna be _maaaad._"

Blue eyes roll. "He's going to be mad, anyway. You're his sister, so you deserve it."

"Yeah, but he _loves _you," Santana retorts, trying her charming smile. "And by the time _I _get to him, he won't be that mad because he's already seen you."

"He's _your _brother."

"It's _your _birthday."

That backfires, because as soon as she says it, Brittany tilts her head and shows her brilliant '_I've won_' smile.

"Exactly," the blonde says, pressing her hand into the small of Santana's back and urging her towards the door. "So that means you have to do what I say."

Santana turns her head to look over her shoulder and winks. "Kinky," she smirks. "But this isn't fair."

"Birthday girl's wishes," Brittany explains before Santana trips over the step and into the restaurant, legs moving rapidly to gain her balance once more. Her cheeks flood with embarrassment, tinging a dark shade of red but there's a smile on her face because she knows how much of an idiot she looks like. What makes it even funnier is that Brittany's holding her stomach, throwing her head back and basically howling at the scene that just happened.

Once the balance is regained, Santana straightens up, grabs the labels of her jacket and shrugs them forward, trying to play it cool and not focus on the fact that she just tripped her way into the restaurant. The maître d' smirks at her like she's noticed, but Santana averts her gaze back to a laughing Brittany and grabs her hand, tangling their fingers together and pulling her towards the maître d's booth - totally ignoring the few people by the door who also witnessed her falling into the restaurant.

_Oh well, _she thinks. At least she didn't fall flat on her face. She totally wouldn't have recovered from that.

"Name?"

"Lopez," Santana mutters, ducking her chin to her chest and looking to the floor. Okay, maybe she's a _little _embarrassed, still. But it's hard not to be when that stupid maître d' is trying to conceal her '_you fell over' _grin but not exactly succeeding. "Santana Lopez, but my brother's already here I think... We're a little late."

"San," Brittany chuckles, pressing her forehead into Santana's bicep to hide the fact that she's _still _giggling at the embarrassing entrance even though she should totally just get over it.

(Santana tries not to think that if Brittany had tripped, she'd still be laughing, too.)

"Sssh," she whispers, squeezing Brittany's hand and sucking her lips to try and hide her own little chuckle. To be honest, at first, yeah sure, it was embarrassing, but when Brittany laughs and smiles like _this –_ the first of the five smiles to be precise – she just can't _not _join in. Even if it _is _at herself.

"Yes, ladies," the maitre d' nods and sweeps her hand out down towards the tables. "This way."

Santana bumps her shoulder against Brittany's and scrunches up her nose at her, whispering "ssh, Brittany, people are staring_" _to try and get her to keep quiet. But she just keeps laughing, even though she's covering her mouth and has her head buried into Santana's arm. Rolling her eyes, Santana releases their hand and throws her arm around her girlfriend's shoulders, pulling them together as they head towards the table.

(She's really glad she wore the boots with the heels on, and Brittany wore flats.)

When they get there, Antonio's sitting in the booth, leg crossed and propped up, with his arms spread out angel-style beside him along the back of his seat. He grins at Santana as they come into view, and Santana presses a kiss to her girlfriend's cheek before practically sprinting towards her brother.

"Tony!" She half-screams, throwing herself into her brother's arms and hugging tightly. His thick muscled arms wrap around her neck and pull them closer together. "Damn, yo he echado de menos te!" (_I've missed you!)_

"Yo también te extrañe, _(I've missed you too)_ Santana," Tony whispers, pressing a kiss to her hair.

Releasing her brother from the hug, she pulls back and takes in a huge breath, eyes flicking over the sight of her brother. His muscles are more toned, his teeth are somehow brighter and his hair is longer, now. It resembles more of a flat-top than a short-cut, but he still looks like his charming self. Still looks like the spitting image of Jesse Metcalfe and an ethnic God. He's grown up though. There's a certain maturity to his eyes and definitely the beginnings of crows-feet at the corners of his eyes.

The last time she saw him was at her wedding and that was... _God, _almost a year ago, and the last conversation they had was about Brittany (funnily enough) and how Mike Chang was hitting on her. How if it weren't Mike, someone else would come along and sweep Brittany off her feet.

Come to think of it, Santana can't actually remember if she told Tony about the struggle she and Brittany went through. All she remembers is gushing down the phone to him after he came back in February, telling him how unbelievably amazing she was, and how Brittany was her girlfriend. She doesn't even think he got a word in edge-ways in that particular conversation, before he spoke quickly and muttered that he had to get back to some business.

"¡Dios mío," Tony purrs, twisting his body to slide past Santana and towards Brittany.

Santana twists, chuckles and then shakes her head as she watches her brother shamelessly check out her girlfriend. She's not going to get jealous, or possessive or whatever. Tony has all reason to check out Brittany. She's fucking _smoking _hot. Santana would probably react more if Tony _didn't _check Brittany out. He'd have to be fucking crazy _not _to.

"Happy birthday, Brittany. And if you don't mind me saying," he cocks a brow and turns on the Lopez charm. Santana could spot it from a mile away. "You're looking fine, chica _(girl)_," he nods in approval as he holds out his hand and silently asks for hers – his eyes trailing up and down her body a hell of a lot slower than appropriate.

Brittany accepts, smiling at him but flicking her eyes towards Santana for permission – who smiles in response - and Tony twirls her when he holds their hands high. A light giggle escapes her lips, her nose scrunches up and she brings her other hand up to her chest, allowing herself to be whirled around and Santana can't fight the grin that etches its way across her face. _Another _thing she loves about Brittany is that Brittany's basically a part of the Lopez family already. Always getting along with Tony (despite him drooling a few times in their past) and even respecting Maria when they visited her at Christmas. Despite her mother not deserving it.

"Santana," Tony addresses her. "You got some good taste, hermano."

Santana rolls her eyes but takes a step towards her girlfriend, looping her arm around her shoulder and stealing her back. Their hands clasp where Santana dangles it over Brittany's right shoulder. "That's why she's _my _girl."

Brittany twists her head and looks up at her the same way she did this morning. With that adoring smile that's only ever directed at Santana. The one that says _I love you, I need you _and _I want you _all in one single expression. Blue eyes flicker down to her lips and back to her eyes, and Santana wrinkles her nose before kissing Brittany's temple, letting her lips linger a little longer than necessary. She pulls back and stares into blue eyes, watching the silver specks in Brittany's eyes glimmer and beam adoration towards her. It makes her heart flutter and she lets out a heavy sigh before squeezing Brittany's body closer to hers – knowing it's probably a little inappropriate to kiss her in front of her brother right now. Considering they were late and all, and are now just prolonging their lunch.

"Okay, pájaros del amor _(love birds)," _Tony shakes his head and curls his finger in a 'come here' gesture as he takes a seat back on his side of the booth. _"B_reak it up. A hombre's _(man's)_ gotta eat."

Grinning until her cheeks hurt, Santana moves her and Brittany – still holding each other – towards the booth and steps aside to allow the blonde in. Brittany flutters her eyes and smiles gratefully as she slides into the booth and scoots over, tapping the seat beside her to urge Santana in, quickly.

The maitre D places down their menus and they order drinks quickly before Tony begins once more.

"So," he starts, forearms pressing into the table top as he leans forward and smiles, looking between the two. There's a sparkle in his eye that Santana knows is the '_I approve of this relationship' _one, and it just makes her relax even more. Not that she wasn't already, though. But it's nice to know that Tony will give his blessing when she decides to pop the question.

Wait... Did she just think about proposing?

"Do I wanna know why you two were late?" He asks, cocking a brow and pasting a knowing smirk on to his face.

Santana snaps her head to Brittany who ducks her head and blushes. She grins, bites her top lip and runs her tongue along it once it's released, trying to find an answer that doesn't involve the words _'going at it like rabbits' _or _'couldn't get enough'_. When she thinks of one, she lowers her hand, squeezing her girlfriend's thigh as if to say _I'll take this one" _and barely sees the nod Brittany gives. Knowing the blonde's afraid to do anything more because Brittany has the ability to turn into a freaking tomato when she's embarrassed.

"No," she tries not to chuckle as Brittany whips her head around with wide eyes. "You probably don't."

Brittany nudges her in the ribs with her elbow, but Santana and Tony just throw their heads back and begin to laugh loudly. The waitress comes back over with their drinks and they all lower their laughter and pause enough to take a sip. Brittany keeps her head ducked down the entire time, but her shoulders are rising and falling rapidly as if she's silently giggling. To be honest, Santana can't exactly be ashamed. The majority of couples give their other half a special 'good morning' on their birthday, so why shouldn't she? Not to mention, Tony totally would have known by their bright, in-love auras glowing around them that they'd had a great morning already – even if she'd lied.

Whilst the waitress is still around, they all take a break from their chuckling to order their food. Asparagus cream pasta for Santana, Chicken Cacciatore for Brittany and Spaghetti Carbonara for Tony. Which is pretty funny actually, because Tony's probably the wealthiest out of them all – with the whole TV actor thing going on – and he has the cheapest lunch. But he's all about simplicity and not showing his wealth. Even though his seven thousand dollar suits say different.

"Aren't you going to tell me, then?" Tony asks with a _'well?' _written on his face.

"Tell you what?" Santana asks as Brittany idly toys with her hand underneath the table.

"The story," Santana narrows her eyes at her brother, so he elaborates. "The story of you two."

She turns her head down until she locks eyes with Brittany and then sucks in a deep breath, readying herself to begin to long ass tale. But then a hand squeezes at her thigh and she frowns quickly, staring quizzically at her girlfriend because she doesn't really know what that was for.

"I'll take this one, babe," Brittany winks and then leans back onto the table, keeping their hands together underneath the table as she begins.

Santana listens and watches her girlfriend in awe.

/

"So, you guys kissed the night before Santana's wedding?"

Brittany chuckles and nods at Tony's question, and Santana just ducks her head, focusing all her attention on her girlfriend's hand as she rubs her thumb pad over the back of it. The skin is soft to the touch, and it almost sends shudders down her spine at the sparks that flow between their contrasting skin.

"Jesus, San," Tony mutters. "Why didn't you just break it off with Sophie then?"

"I wish I did," she responds honestly, feeling blue eyes bore into the side of her skull with sheer surprise. "I know I should have, but I guess if I had then things wouldn't have turned out," she turns her head to Brittany and stares straight into blue eyes. "As perfect as they are."

Brittany sighs and gives her that first smile – the '_I'm horribly in love' _one – and then leans forward to press their lips together.

"You two are kind of disgustingly cute," Tony mutters.

But Santana ignores it and resumes kissing her perfect girlfriend.

* * *

><p>"You spent Christmas day together, made out and..." Tony waves his hand around. "<em>Stuff, <em>and both of you _still _stayed with your other halves?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "I was _married,_"she tries. "I couldn't just ditch her."

"And Mike was always really sweet," Brittany adds in.

Tony scoffs. "You two were _seriously_ unbelievable. I even told Santana before the wedding that she should ditch that hoe then and there."

Blue eyes snap to Santana, and without even looking, she knows that Brittany's waiting for her to explain _that _bit of the story. But she just clears her throat instead of responding, unwilling to say what happened because she knows she should have listened to her brother. She knows it every damn day and she already swore to Brittany, standing on her door step that she'd spend every living day making it up to her.

Brittany clucks her tongue, knowing Santana's not going to answer and then continues on with the story. "So, anyway, Santana went out to get some syrup..."

* * *

><p>"Oh, mierda! <em>(shit!)"<em> Tony exclaims, slapping the table top. "Sophie came back?"

Santana curls her fingers around her glass of wine and brings it to her lips. She takes a sip, feeling the bitterness tang at her taste buds and then places it back down.

"Yep," she nods, squeezes Brittany's hand. "Really fucking convenient timing."

"It's better she came home, San," Brittany looks at her and offers a small smile.

Santana narrows her eyes but agrees anyway. Because like she's already said, things wouldn't have happened they way they did, and they may not have got where they are today if things had proceeded differently. Not to mention, if Sophie _hadn't _come back, and they were in the apartment together for a few more days, _alone, _they most definitely wouldn't have had such an amazing first time together. It would have been hot, _sure, _but definitely not as special as it was.

Her heart beat increases and heat pools low in her belly when she thinks back to that time.

"Yeah, baby," she leans towards Brittany and kisses her cheek, softly. "I know."

Brittany smiles back and then resumes their story again.

* * *

><p>"Sophie was cheating on you all that time and you never did anything about it?" Tony pulls his face into an incredulous expression. "¿Qué coño, Santana!" <em>(What the fuck, Santana!)<em>

"Guess I never really cared enough to do anything," she admits, shrugging as the waitress places down their food in front of them. As always, they've seemed to take a seat on the appropriate side - allowing them to eat whilst still holding hands. Which is kind of perfect, because, _well, _they are kind of perfect too. Never fails to illuminate her heart and send her insides round and round.

"You're kind of an ass, hermana."

Santana chuckles and picks up her fork to stab it into her pasta. "I know."

"But Brittany loves you, anyway."

"I do," Brittany chirps in as she takes a bite of her chicken. "Sort of."

Santana bumps their shoulders together and scrunches her nose. "Shut up, you."

"You love me."

"I do," she grins, a bit of pasta sauce tumbling down her chin.

"Okay, can it los amantes de la, _(lovers)_" Tony mumbles through a mouthful. "I'd actually prefer not to throw up fourteen dollars worth of food, here."

Santana rolls her eyes and so does Brittany. But the story still continues, even as they eat.

* * *

><p>The waitress takes their empty plates away from them, asking if they were satisfied with their meals and of course, Tony couldn't resist replying with <em>"I could do with a little more satisfaction." <em>If it weren't for his ridiculously good looks and Hollywood-charm, most women would probably slap him for that. But being a starstruck waitress (she may have asked Tony for his autograph a few times) she giggled, more than necessary and fluttered her eyelashes.

"Gracias, hermosa, _(thank you, beautiful)_" Tony says, his voice low and raspy as the waitress drops her chest lower and her boobs practically tumble out her blouse.

Whilst the waitress walks away, Santana pulls Brittany closer to her, allowing the blonde to rest her head on her shoulder and then threads their fingers together on her lap. They're both stuffed from their meal, their minds marvelling with the aftermath of the rich flavour of their expensive meals and both wanting to be as close as possible.

"Where were we?" Tony mutters after he manages to tear his eyes away from where they were glued on the waitress' ass.

Santana skims her lips across Brittany's forehead when she doesn't answer. "Britt?"

"We were at my last birthday," the blonde breathes out and Santana suddenly gets why she didn't reply immediately.

Here comes the beginning of the end.

* * *

><p>"So, hold on a segundo <em>(second)," <em>Tony points towards Brittany. "You _just _got engaged?" he points to Santana, "You were married?" He retracts his hand and crosses his arms over his chest, pulling his features into slight confusion. "You both obviously knew of each other's feelings, and neither of you thought to break it off with your other half and speak up?"

Santana looks to Brittany for an answer, but Brittany looks to Santana for one and then they just kind of end up staring at each other, seeing if either half a worth answer.

Except neither really do, so Santana just shakes her head and says; "It was more complicated, back then."

Tony's eyebrows raise and his eyes flicker down to their hands, tightly clasped on top of the table. "Yeah," he says, sarcastically. "_Sure _seems like it."

"There's more," she tries, clenching her jaw because it's becoming slowly evident how stupid both of them were. Even if back then it sort of seemed like they were doing the right thing.

(_Right thing, _her ass.)

"Well, please," her brother sweeps out his arm, much like the maître d' did earlier when they were seated. "Explain."

Santana lets out a small laugh, but there's an edge to it that makes her seem slightly irritated. "Well if you didn't keep fucking interrup-"

"San," Brittany warns, softly as her free hand taps at their clasped ones. "Don't. He doesn't understand," the blonde explains, staring deeply into brown eyes. Santana feels all the irritation she felt pulsing through her veins diminish and lets out a long exhale, sinking back into her seat as Brittany continues.

She swears she hears Tony say _"you're so whipped", _but decides that she still wants to keep her brother, so she just forgets she ever heard it.

* * *

><p>"Tell me you gave Sophie a smack down, hermana," Tony slams his fist to the table, his features angered, yet excited.<p>

"No," Santana shakes her head, feeling Brittany trace an invisible circle on the back of her hand. "I was never that pissed at her, to be honest," she shrugs. "She never meant enough to me. It just sucked that my trust was broken."

She feels Brittany stretch up and tilts her cheek down to receive the kiss, grinning when Brittany nuzzles her nose into the spot afterwards. Rolling his eyes, Tony calls over the waitress and orders three coffees, winking at her and pulling her down to whisper something into his ear. Santana's like, one hundred percent sure she doesn't want to hear what was just said.

"You just let that bitch go?" Tony continues once the waitress turns away.

Pulling her lips down at the side, Santana makes a low humming noise_. "Mhmm_."

"What she's _not _telling you," Brittany starts, grinning and shuffling forward until her butt's on the edge of the seat. "Is that she _totally _kicked Puck's ass."

Tony's eyes flit towards her and she rolls her eyes whilst half-smiling, pretending like she isn't proud of that. She really is though. Especially when Brittany's looking at her like that and saying it like she's cheering Santana on. Makes her feel pretty awesome, to be honest.

"You did?" Her brother asks, his voice a little high. Almost like he doesn't quite believe her.

Santana rolls her head a little. "Yeah," she breathes out, trying not to act like kicking Puck's ass pretty cool. "I did."

"¿Cómo?" _(How?)_

"What do you mean, how?" Santana says, bringing her glass to her lips and taking a sip. "I kicked his ass."

"Yeah, but like," her brother shifts forward towards the edge of his seat and lifts both hands. Santana stays quizzical at her brother's actions, but Brittany giggles when Tony curls his fists and jabs in the air. Tony then switches between groping _something _and then turns to fidgeting after. She can only imagine that he's kicking his feet underneath the table, because otherwise he's squirming like a penguin and she's not entirely sure how someone can kick someone's ass like that. "Which one looked like you when you were kicking his ass?"

"Well I didn't flop like a penguin," she mimics his previous movement and grins. "If that's what you mean."

"Callar, Santana," he pulls his brows together.

"Sólo porque me pateó culo de alguien y no lo ha hecho,"_(only because I've kicked someone's ass and you haven't.)_ she spits back playfully, poking her tongue out.

Tony leans over and jabs her in the arm. "Voy a patear el culo en un minuto." _(I'll kick your ass in a minute.)_

"Tráigalo encendido, hermano menor. _(Bring it on, little brother.)" _Santana buffs out her chest and taps it with both hands. Almost like a gorilla does when defending himself. She hears Brittany giggling and turns to her, seeing a scrunched up nose, sparkling white teeth being revealed through a large grin and her girlfriend's head thrown back. She begins to laugh too, snorting a little in which Brittany stills, widens her eyes at her before bursting out into a giggle fit once more and then Tony joins in.

(Seriously, it's like they're three teenagers again. Back in the Lopez household, pretending to fight and wrestle because the pizza delivery girl gave them _both _the look. Even though Brittany insists the girl wasn't even interested.)

"Right, so," Tony wipes at the corner of his eyes and then breathes out heavily, crossing both arms and placing them on top of the table before speaking. "Continue, señora atractiva," he winks at Brittany.

"Did you just call my girlfriend '_sexy lady'_?" Santana asks, her face incredulous but slightly amused. That was _such _a corny thing to say. Sometimes, it actually surprises her that shit like that works with Tony's girls. Pretty cringe if you ask her.

"Speaking the truth, hermana," he bites his bottom lip and looks to Brittany seductively.

Brittany just pulls an amused expression. "I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot barge pole and boxing gloves," she says, her face splitting into a grin.

Tony clutches his chest and twists his face in faux agony. "Oh, Brittany, ese daño, (_that hurt_)."

"Yeah, I have no idea what you just said," Brittany says with a straight face.

Grinning, Santana twists her body and grabs Brittany's hip – the one furthest away from her - and pulls them together, nuzzling her nose into the slope of her girlfriend's neck. Because sometimes Brittany's just too damn adorable and cute for her own fucking good. Her lips brush over Brittany's pulse point and she feels it skip underneath her touch. So, just for good measure, she presses a firm kiss there before pulling away. Knowing if she stays any longer, they'll probably get kicked out for sexual indecency because Santana took Brittany right here on the table.

Not to mention Tony would probably disown her. But whatever, Brittany's pretty hard to resist. Even in public.

"So, anyway," Brittany clears her throat and Santana notes the tinge on her ears from where she's slightly turned on. It makes arousal swirl low in her stomach and she turns back to Tony with a straight face, subtly ignoring how a pale hand slips onto her thigh, a little too high to be deemed appropriate. _Playing dirty, _she thinks.

"We both went to the restaurant where Puck and Sophie were and Santana totally created this massive scene..."

* * *

><p>It takes about another half hour, but Brittany finally finishes her story, ending it with the 'five smiles' that makes Santana blush heavily and Tony mouth <em>"pussy" <em>over the table to her. If she was ashamed by her actions she'd totally kick him under the table. But she doesn't at all. That speech got her the most incredible girlfriend in the entire world. She doesn't see Tony with Brittany, so Santana wins.

She'll take the teasing for Brittany any day.

"Baby," Brittany whispers as Tony continues to chuckle at the speech. "I gotta pee."

Santana turns, pressing a kiss to Brittany's forehead. "Okay," she scoots over, allowing her girlfriend out of the booth. "It's over in the back corner."

Brittany grins and turns, but then spins around again before she takes any steps. Quizzical, Santana narrows her eyes at her girlfriend but then sees Brittany glance towards Tony who's preoccupied with his staring contest against the waitress' ass. Her mouth drops open to ask what the hell's going on before lips cover her own and suddenly Brittany's kissing her. Briefly but surely. Her mind swims and lips tingle as soon as Brittany pulls away, and if it weren't for Tony slowly bringing himself back to the table, she'd curl her fingers around her girlfriend's wrist and tug until they were kissing, over and over.

Probably inappropriate for a place like this, but it's not like she really gives a crap.

"Be right back," Brittany winks, sucking in her lips before twisting around and heading to the bathroom.

Santana doesn't stop herself from staring at her girlfriend's butt as she walks away because it's _definitely _something to be stared at. She continues to gaze for a long moment, before sighing loudly and hearing her brother clear his throat. Snapping herself back to reality, she turns in her seat and stares at him, shrugging because she doesn't even need an excuse for gazing. She's not a dirty pervert, flirting with some innocent waitress like he is. Brittany's her _girlfriend._ It's like her right to stare.

"When you gonna do it then?"

"What?"

Tony leans forward and looks around as if he's a spy. "When you gonna do it?" He repeats, eyebrows cocking up quickly as if to say "_you know what I'm talking about."_

"Do what?"

"You know," he lowers his voice and waves his hand around in a circular motion. "Pop the question."

She's pretty sure her heart skips about three or four beats then. Mouth dropping open, and eyes widening, she stares at her brother like he just told her _he_ was getting married and leaves her glass hanging awkwardly in the air – seeing as she was about to take a sip from it before he spoke. Her eyes flicker around when she kicks her mind back into gear, making sure Brittany isn't around as her pulse quickens with slight fear.

_That _was definitely _not _what she was expecting.

"Have you had one too many to drink?" She say through a forced chuckle, jutting her chin towards the bottle of beer on his side and trying to lighten the situation. If she were honest, that kind of blind sided her.

"I'm serious," he continues, his face dropping from its usual grin and into something she can only think to be his serious side. She doesn't know, only because the majority of the time her brother's joking around, or smiling. There's rarely an occasion where he takes anything serious. Even his damn TV show is a sitcom.

Santana moves her drink up to her lips and takes a long sip, trying to think of _anything _since her mind's pretty much blanked. Her eyes narrow and she lifts her arm, throwing it along the back of the bench to study her brother. Something inside of her flutters, and whereas at first, she thought it might possibly have been fear... She now recognises it to be... excitement, maybe?

It's that that sends her mind into a thought spiral. Hundreds of images of Brittany walking down the aisle in a perfect white dress, flawless and hugging every womanly curve of her body, whilst Santana stands at the base by the priest, staring at her fiancée with such awe because she still can't fucking believe that Brittany's hers, pops into her mind and it does something to her insides. Like someone just popped a balloon of excitement and now she can't possibly contain herself.

She thinks of the reception for their wedding. White roses (because they're Brittany's favourite) and _At Last _by _Etta James _playing for their first dance as a newlywed couple (because that's what they both decided for their separate weddings on when they were 9 years old and had _no _idea what their lives would bring.) She thinks about their family surrounding them, and realizes just how fucking happy it makes her. How the mere thought of having a wedding band on her finger, placed there by none other than than Brittany Lopez-Pierce, the love of her life and soul mate, makes the entire room seem brighter.

"You think I should?" She asks, the aftermath of her 'Lopez-Pierce' thought still processing in her mind.

Tony grins and nods, noticing the extra glint in her eye. "It's her birthday," he replies, eyes flicking around and head bobbing up and down. "There's no better time," he shrugs. "It'd be the best present ever."

Feeling her chest inflate with an overload of happiness, Santana smiles and thinks about it for a few seconds. Inwardly, she weighs up a quick pros and cons list of doing it today and then realizes what she did. She didn't even hesitate about actually doing it, just about the day in which she does. Her stomach jumps and she's pretty sure she just swallowed her heart because suddenly it's like she can't breathe from the overwhelming flood of emotions she feels. Excitement, adoration, panic, love... Now she can't really wait to do it.

Even if there's a part of her that's shitting itself.

Before she can even answer him, Brittany comes back and slides into the seat next to her. Her hand instantly finding purchase on Santana's thigh and head leaning on her shoulder. Santana, still pretty sure her heart is racing from the conversation with her brother, settles into her girlfriend and presses a kiss to her temple. Her brother just gives her a knowing smile and then leans back into his seat, waving over the waitress for the bill.

Santana thinks that maybe Brittany's going to get an extra special present this year.

* * *

><p><strong>Tell me your thoughts! Thanks!<strong>


	30. chapter thirty  part one

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Thirty – Part One]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary: <strong>They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>12.8k

**Author + Beta's Note: **There was a review for the last chapter that we discussed and we'd just like to say that, unlike copy editors, neither of us have time to read each chapter over and over again, so undoubtedly there are going to be mistakes. We don't need an English lesson, but we can't help the occasional mistake, so please don't be rude about it.  
><strong>Author's Note Two: <strong>As this is my last chapter, I have decided to write an incredibly long one and so, because of the length I've decided to split it and leave half of it here. I'm already writing _Part Two _of this chapter so it won't be that long of a wait!  
><strong>Author's Note Three: <strong>I don't usually do this, but Chapter 30 - both parts - are dedicated to my beta who has been incredible. I literally can't put into words how awesome she is and how many times she's kicked my ass into writing my stuff, or how many ideas she's developed/come up with. And as this is the final chapter, it's in complete dedication to her!

* * *

><p>"You can come with us you know. We're only going to Central Park."<p>

Tony grins and nods, releasing Santana from the hug.

"I know," he glances around the streets of NYC and raises his hand to hail a cab. Santana sees his eyes slide to her briefly. "But I think you two need some nice alone time."

Brittany sticks out her lower lip in a small pout and Santana doesn't even try fighting the huge grin that spreads across her face. She knows that Brittany loves Tony, and in some weird way, they're basically already brother and sister, so she understands Brittany's disapproval to saying goodbye to him so soon. They've known each other for most of their lives and always treated one another with tender care and sibling kind of love. Tony practically worships the ground Brittany walks on, and has always treated her as a little sister, despite the three year age gap.

"I'm gonna miss you, Pierce," Tony smiles and steps forward, opening his arms for an embrace.

Brittany leans into it, her arms snaking around his neck and face burying into the crook of it. Santana tilts her head to the side, admiring the view because it is quite a rare one, and her heart inflates when she realizes just how easy proposing to Brittany is going to be. Brittany's already part of the family, and pretty much always has been. The only thing that needs officially changing is her name.

Santana's heart skips a beat at the thought of signing '_Lopez-Pierce_' inside of '_Lopez_.'

Brittany pulls away first, enough to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "I'll miss you too."

"Alright," Santana's brother steps back and she swears she sees a tear well in the corner of his eye. A giggle almost bursts through her lips but she bites down on her tongue, keeping it in because _sure, _it would be pretty amusing to see the sheer embarrassment etch its way across his face, but him crying is just him letting down his guard a bit. She never gets to see it, but with Brittany it's different; Tony and Brittany have always had a connection that she's never managed to understand.

A cab pulls up on his second wave, and he throws Santana a quick smile, leaning in to peck her cheek before he hugs Brittany again.

"I'll see you guys soon," he says, winking at her. "Look after her, San!" He points to Brittany as he slides into the cab and leans in slightly to mutter something to the driver.

"You're supposed to tell her to look after me, hermano!" She says playfully when he winds down the window.

Leaning out of it, Tony rests his chin on his forearms and grins. "Nah, I love her more so you should look after her."

Santana tries to tilt forward to smack her hand across his head, but fingers curl around her wrist and she's pulled into Brittany's body, front to front. Her chest bumps against her girlfriend's and then arms loop around her neck, her hands instantly finding purchase on Brittany's hips as they watch the cab peel away from the curb, temples pressed together.

"Supongo que yo también te quiero, hermana _(I guess I love you too, sister)_,**" **he winks and then looks between them briefly. "Recuerda, hazlo pronto y buena suerte _(Remember, do it soon and good luck)."_

She swears her eyes widen comically, but to hide it she suck in her lips and nods, concealing the large smile threatening to stretch across her face. Every time she thinks of proposing her stomach flips and it's like a million butterflies are fluttering around her insides, bumping against the walls and flying together to create this huge buzzing feeling that crawls across the expanse of her skin and sinks in through her pores.

"What was that?" Brittany asks when the cab turns around the corner and out of sight.

"Nothing," Santana laughs, reaching up to brush Brittany's hair away from her face. "He just said he guesses he loves me too and wishes me good luck with the label and everything."

Brittany seems skeptical. "Really?"

"Yeah," Santana presses a kiss to the tip of her girlfriend's nose and then releases her, switching from cradling her waist to cradling her hand and ushering them to head down the street, towards Central Park. "We were talking about it when you went to the bathroom."

"Oh," Brittany says, almost like she's surprised.

"Oh?"

"Just seemed a little more intense than that when I came back," Brittany shrugs and pulls her lips down at the side. "That's all."

Panic shoots through Santana.

"Really?" She swings their hands between them and bumps their shoulders together, lightly. "It's not like I'm lying, Britt," she manages through a small chuckle, hoping that despite Brittany being able to read her like a book, this is something she can pass off as a lie because _shit_.

"It was just about Quinn and a new artist she suggested to me a few weeks back."

"Yeah, but–" Brittany pauses and pinches her lips together. Her head then jerks like she's just processed the words as she turns to look at the brunette. "A new artist?"

"Yeah, some chick called Sunshine," Santana shrugs as Central Park comes into view. "Apparently she was at the gig, too. She's in it for the music, not the money," she explains. "Quinn said that Millennium offered her a contract, too, but she was just as reluctant."

They stop when they get to Central Park. Santana pulls Brittany to a stop and holds her hands between them. Blue eyes gaze down at her and she almost forgets her train of thought of why the hell they're here, and _who's _going to be here because those pools are just so damn distracting. So distracting that Brittany has to kiss her back into consciousness. She kisses back for a second when he mind kicks in, but her girlfriend pulls away first, grinning in the way that says '_you're so cute'. _Her insides may have just melted into a puddle of love.

"Back at Earth yet?" Brittany smiles.

Santana laughs. "Yeah, Britt. Sorry," she ducks her head momentarily, eyes focused on her boot as she scuffs it along the pavement. "I just–" she bites her lip to pause and then glance up again. "I just really love you," she says sheepishly, even though she says it most days. "And I hope you're having an amazing birthday because I didn't exactly do the best job in making your last one great."

"I really love you too," Brittany beams back and it makes Santana hum excitedly. "And this is the best birthday ever already," she leans in for another kiss and does it slowly but surely. "But," she mumbles into Santana's mouth and leans back, tilting her head. "I am wondering why we're in Central Park..."

Pressing one last kiss to Brittany's cheek, Santana begins to lead them into the park, down a path and towards her destination. "You think I'd let you have a lunch without dessert?"

"San..." Brittany says, her tone dipping as if she's slowly piecing this together. "Where are we going?"

"Just down here."

"San..."

Santana grins and twists her neck to look at her girlfriend. "Do you trust me?"

"I do," Brittany answers barely a second after.

"Then we're good."

They continue walking down the path, content with silence and just each other's presence. It only takes about three minutes for them to get to the planned destination and Santana begins to squeeze Brittany's hand a little harder when she gets closer and closer.

But then her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she fishes it out, keeping it to her side to make sure Brittany doesn't see the text. Not because she's really hiding anything, only because it could be her brother, and it's _so _like him to remind her every ten minutes for the next few hours to propose until she does it. He can be pretty annoying sometimes, even if he has her best interests in thought.

_Got any plans for Britt's birthday later? Rach wants to go out for dinner – Q x_

Santana smiles and Brittany looks over. "What's that?"

"Just Quinn asking if we've got any plans for dinner," she replies, breathing in through her nose as she tries to text back with her right hand. Sort of difficult, but she manages.

_We'll be free around 8? Where's Treasure Trail thinking? – S + B x_

Brittany giggles and leans in to kiss her on the cheek. "Don't be so mean to Rachel," she says, lips ghosting over her ear. "She's only trying to be nice."

"I'll be nice to her when she stops being so short," Santana retorts, grinning as her girlfriend pulls away to look at her.

"So if I got her stilts, you'd be nice?"

Santana chuckles and smiles. "Yeah, B. You get her stilts and then see if I make fun of her."

Her phone buzzes against her thigh and she picks it out again, leaving a slightly unamused Brittany staring at her. However, when it's in the palm of her hand, she realizes it's not a text and Rachel's name is flashing up on her screen because she's being called. Her eyes roll in reaction. Talking to Rachel is never fun; she uses too many God damn words and makes a sentence or question that should be three seconds long, like, three freaking minutes.

"Berry's ringing me," she sighs, sounding monotonous.

"Well pick up then," Brittany insists, using her free hand to push at the tanned one holding the phone.

As soon as Santana hits the green button, she sees her girlfriend mouth '_be nice' _and rolls her eyes again. The only reason she's going to be nice is because it's Brittany's birthday. If it weren't, she doubts she'd even pick up the damn phone. She doesn't even know how Rachel got her damn number anyway, or does she know how she has hers.

_Brittany, _she decides.

"Hello, Rachel," she greets when the phone is pressed against her ear.

"_Good afternoon, Santana."_

"How may I help you today?"

Brittany purses her lips and raises both eyebrows in a way that says _'stop' _because Santana knows she sounds like someone as a customer services desk, someone who is _forced _to be polite. Technically, she is being forced, but apparently Brittany doesn't want Rachel knowing that. It's not like it's a huge secret she dislikes Rachel, even if the dwarf has had her moments in the past where she's not _that _bad.

"_Quinn said that you and Brittany would be free around 8 for dinner?"_

Santana looks to Brittany and nods. "We are."

"_And it would be greatly appreciated if you could attend a birthday dinner at Breadstix tonight?"_

Her blood boils at the mention of the restaurant. Before Sophie, it used to be one of her favourite places, but ever since she had that smack down with Puck and broke a few glasses and plates with his face, she doubts she'd even be allowed in there anymore.

"Not Breadstix," she shakes her head and sees Brittany's brow furrow for about two seconds before it clicks.

"_Why not Breadstix?"_

"_Rachel, just leave it," _she hears Quinn say in the background. A chuckle bursts through her lips in response. **"**_She doesn't want it there."_

"_Why not? It's not like has a good reason to not like it? Breadstix is a fine establishment and just because Santana's–"_

"_Just drop it, Rachel!"_

Santana chuckles the entire way through hearing Quinn and Rachel's conversation and clicks it on loud speaker for Brittany to here. They exchange glances when it gets a little less PG and becomes more PG-13 with the casual use of swear words from Quinn's side, including '_fucking Puckerman'_and '_Santana kicked the shit out of him_'. It's only when she hears the tell tale sound of lips smacking together that she feigns a wretch.

"Okay, okay, okay," she says, trying to stop the sound coming down the phone. "Swear to God if you two are making out I will open a can on both of you."

A few more kissing sounds and then a; **"**_Shut up, Lopez," _which she hopes it from Quinn because otherwise she really _will _go ape shit on Rachel.

"Yeah, I'm hanging up on you now," she mutters, glancing at Brittany with disgust on her face. "Just come to ours and we'll order in Chinese," she covers the phone with her hand to block the speaker as she addresses Brittany. "Is that okay, babe?"

Brittany nods with a ridiculously large grin on her face, which makes Santana wonder what the hell she did, and she brings the phone back up to her ear to talk back to the world's cringiest couple _ever_. "Okay, just come over at 8 and bring some beer, Fabray!"

"_Yeah, yeah," _Quinn pipes up between kissing noises.

"_Bye! Quinn stop i–"_

Santana wrenches her lips down at the side and makes a sound of disgust from the back of her throat as she hangs up. She quickly shoves her phone back in her pocket and leans closer to Brittany, who's staring at her like she's the best thing in the world.

(She knows she's not, though, because she herself is staring at the best thing in the world.)

"What?" She asks, suddenly self-conscious, hand reaching up to rub at her face.

Brittany grips her arm tighter and squeezes her hand, pressing her body into Santana's as they continue to walk down the path. "Nothing," she sighs, happily.

Santana pulls her brows together. "Tell _meee_," she sing songs, bumping their shoulders together, lightly.

Brittany giggles and loops her arms around Santana's waist. Throwing her arm over her girlfriend's shoulder, Santana presses her face into the top of her head and peppers a few kisses there.

"Are you gonna tell me or am I gonna have to kiss it out of you?" She scrunches up her nose and wiggles it when Brittany looks up.

"_Hmm,"_ Brittany's eyes wander to the sky above as she reaches up to tap her chin with a finger. A smirk crosses her lips and a second later she's staring evilly up at Santana, eyes darkening and narrowing into a smouldering glare. "I think you might have to kiss it out of me," she finally lands on, expression challenging.

Glancing around, Santana wonders how many people will notice if she pushes Brittany into one of the bushes and just ravishes here right here and now. It's pretty inappropriate, and there's definitely a law about sexual indecency, punishable with a prison sentence or a hefty fine of some kind, but with the combination of Brittany's seductive glare and the heat building around her collar, she's finding it pretty hard to care.

"Challenge accepted," she replies, her voice low and raspy as her hands blindly slide down to curl around Brittany's wrists.

She tugs gently, her own feet moving backward and on their own accord towards a small island of bushes as a grin spreads across her face, matched and thrown back at her by her girlfriend. They both giggle as Santana barges past the outer layer of the leaves and branches, wincing when they dig into her and scratch at her bare skin.

Brittany stumbles in after her, hands falling to grip at the lapels of her thin jacket as their mouths sink into each other. Tongues brush and caress one another whilst tanned fingers slip underneath the hem of Brittany's shirt, touching heated skin and forming goosebumps that have a rippling effect on her own body. Fingers curl around her neck, nails biting into her skin as the kiss deepens.

Their shoes bump, legs shuffling around the dirt and broken twigs beneath their feet as they try and find steady ground, both of them pumped from the sudden excitement of a spontaneous make out session. The shade of the bushes and small trees shield them from any outside view, and that does nothing but multiply the thrill of doing this in a public place.

A rush of air sinks into her lungs when Santana pulls away, feeling moisture coat the underside of her swollen lip as her eyes flutter open. She offers a quick smile, staring into piercing blue eyes before bringing their mouths back together and reaching up to tangle her fingers through golden locks, cherishing the way the fine hairs glide through the gaps in her fingers.

She feels Brittany's hand coast underneath her shirt, fingers splaying across her abdomen as her own hands sink down into her girlfriend's jeans back pockets, tugging so their hips collide and fit against each other perfectly. Excitement and arousal swirls in her stomach, creating a potent cocktail that dizzies her mind and makes her forget all about the surprise she has planned for Brittany when fingers inch their way up towards her breasts, and tease against the underside of her bra.

_Shit, _wait.

The surprise.

They so _cannot _do this, right now. No matter how hot this is.

As if sensing her thoughts, Brittany nips down on her bottom lip with sharp teeth and then sucks deliberately, pulling a moan from deep within Santana as her fingers subconsciously begin to knead into her girlfriend's ass. Her mind snaps back to what they're doing and with the sudden reminder that they're already late, she slows their kisses, contorting them from fast, hot and heavy to slow, soft and lazy. Brittany kisses back, familiarizing herself with the method and then intensifies it by adding a little reassurance and love into it.

"Why are we–" Brittany mumbles, her words barely making sense. "–Stopping?"

Santana slips her hands from out of the blondes pockets, sliding around the waistband and hooking her thumbs into the belt loops there. She smiles into the kiss when it softens again.

"We've got somewhere to be," she whispers into Brittany's mouth in a tone that even she doesn't find convincing.

"Then stop–" Brittany pauses by dipping her tongue past full lips and removing her wandering hands from out beneath Santana's shirt. They reach up, cupping tanned cheeks and bringing the kiss to a natural stopping point when oxygen becomes a necessity. "–Kissing me."

"I'm trying," Santana pants when they part, one hand tangling further into Brittany's hair. Apparently her mind and body have different ideas. "It's just pretty hard."

"I'll be the judge of that," the blonde smirks, dropping one hand to grab at the crotch of Santana's jeans. Sucking in a sharp gasp and widening her eyes, Santana groans and arches her hips on command, pushing the hand further onto her hardening member.

"Yeah," the blonde adds, almost like an afterthought as she grins. "You're right."

Santana moans and thinks of all the things the incredibly dirty things they could do right now. The risk of being caught just makes everything so much hotter and she has a seriously hard time finding the will _not _to just shout _screw the world _and do them.

But then she thinks about the surprise, and the sheer happiness she knows is going to brighten Brittany's already beaming blue eyes and it actually kind of gives her the strength to stop.

She kisses back for long moments, making sure to keep it sensual and careful with her hands finding Brittany's and tangling their fingers together, ensuring that there'll be no blind wandering and inappropriate touching. One of those and all will to stop will shoot straight out her head and she'll have Brittany pressed into the dirt covered floor as she pounds into her from above.

_Whoa. _She really shouldn't have just thought that.

"Okay," she breathes out when their lips part with a soft smack and foreheads tip together, noses squashing "We need to go."

Her eyes open and she hears Brittany whimper quietly from the loss of bodily contact when she steps away, creating some distance between them. The smile bestowing upon Brittany's lips makes her heart flutter and inflate to twice its original size because she knows it's _her _smile, and always will be. In reaction, her arms spread wide and she pulls Brittany close, bringing them into a tight embrace to feel their racing hearts and pounding pulses calm down together.

Brittany hums into the hug and sighs heavily when Santana runs her nose up the length of a pale neck, inhaling her girlfriend's sweet scent and loving how it makes her body shudder. Sudden desire shoots through her when her lips brush over a throbbing pulse, and she knows Brittany feels it too, because her hands begin to roam around her back, nails biting into the fabric of her jacket.

"Britt," she buries her face into Brittany's shoulder and whines a little. "We really have to go."

Brittany chuckles, low and throaty.

"I know," she turns her head to press her lips to her cheek and then threads their fingers together and pulls them back out into the real world. "Let's go then."

* * *

><p>As they inch closer and closer towards the big oak tree, Santana slides her eyes to the left to keep a check on Brittany's reactions. She slowly sees the shift in emotions, from curious and quizzical to intense confusion. Only when they're about five metres away, and another another head of golden and fading brown hair comes into view that she finally sees the click, the one where all the pieces fall into place.<p>

The grip around her hand tightens and she sees the smile tug at Brittany's lips. She sees the slight crease form in between her brows and then bright white teeth as her face stretches into a Cheshire grin. Her heart beats excitedly, and Brittany whips her head around so fast to look at her, her expression asking the question that her mouth can't form.

"Yeah, baby," Santana scrunches up her nose and grins.

Brittany squirms and bounces onto the balls of her feet frantically. "M-my..." she sucks in a shaky breath and her eyes gloss over. "My fam-family are h-here?"

Santana nods, and feels her eyes go soft as they stare at the happiness flashing behind blue. Every time she does something that makes Brittany look at her like this – baby blue eyes that are slightly squinted, a small smile playing upon her lips and half-scrunched brows – she just falls just that little bit more in love. An airy chuckle escapes her, and she runs her hand up the other girl's arm, squeezing at the elbow lightly.

"Happy birthday, Brittany," she says softly and then sweeps out with her other arm towards the Pierce clan, where Neil, Anna and Emily are all appearing in the distance with large smiles on their face.

Barely a second passes before arms slide around her neck and her face is pulled into Brittany's shoulder. The embrace is quick, because a moment later fingers wrap around her own and then she's being tugged forward towards the rest of the Pierces. She can't help but smile idiotically at the grin she knows she put on Brittany's face and sighs a little.

She's so in love she almost can't believe it herself.

Around three metres away from the Pierces, Brittany lets go and launches her into her father's arms, leaving Santana behind to watch. Neil looks a little older than she remembers, and he has a little less hair too. But she just assumes that's down to the stress as well as the chemotherapy. The thought about whether the cancer has gone or not does pass through her mind, but then she notices how well Neil must look in comparison to Christmas when he couldn't even leave the country, so he must be on his way to better health. Relief floods through her at the thought.

"Dad..." Brittany whispers as her arms slid around her father's neck, tugging their bodies close together as she buries her face into his shoulder.

Neil smiles at Santana, his dull blue eyes twinkling, but he reaches up to cradle the base of his daughter's skull with his right hand, a parental and loving gesture that almost makes her heart twinge. She never got that from her parents.

"I know, honey," he says, pressing his lips to Brittany's hair. "I've missed you too."

Santana digs her hands deep into her jeans pockets and wanders up to Anna and Emily, feeling happiness bloom through her chest as she watches Neil and Brittany's sweet reunion. Brittany was always a daddy's girl. She always had Neil wrapped around her little finger, but never took him advantage of that.

When she reaches the other two blondes, Anna is the first to greet her, opening her arms wide and smiling gratefully at her as if to say _'thank you for looking after her.'_

"I've missed you," Anna whispers as Santana wraps her arms around the older woman and hugs her.

Santana smiles. "You too, Anna," she mumbles, pulling out the hug. "It's been too long."

A low chuckle comes from the woman's lips. "Too long, indeed," Anna agrees.

There's a moment of silence between the two where it seems they sense of familiarity and family is sinking in, where everything from her teenage years comes rushing back and suddenly she's an honorary Pierce once more. Her heart skips a beat when she thinks that soon she might _actually _be a Pierce. Well, half a Pierce.

The sound of Brittany's small sobs sound like gunshots in Santana's ears, snapping her from the trance and her own thoughts; but when she finds the tears rolling down Brittany's cheeks, she instantly recognises them to be ones of happiness, joy and relief and calms immediately.

"Better not forget me, Lopez," a voice pipes up and Santana ducks her chin to her chest and laughs.

"How could I ever forget something as annoying as you?" She responds playfully, her head lifting and eyes finding Emily, Brittany's sister, standing in front of her with a smile on his face that pays an uncanny resemblance to Brittany's. Bright blue eyes shine at her and she grins as her arms stretch out and widen, offering a hug. "Come here, short ass."

Emily chuckles but steps into the embrace, her thin arms winding around Santana's middle and pulling them together. She holds the youngest Pierce for a good minute before squeezing her and releasing the girl, hands falling down to grip at Emily's biceps to hold her in place. Her eyes linger over the other girl's body, noticing the major differences. It's been a good few years since she last saw any of them, and now she's noticing just how much she must have missed.

Emily's taller. Like, _a lot _taller. Not quite Brittany height, but getting there. Her once shoulder length white blonde hair is now halfway down her back and has darkened into a golden blonde. Her face has lost its baby fat and instead, her skin sculpts around her high 'Moore' cheekbones, named after Anna's side of the family, as the majority of the women all have the same high cheekbones and cat-like eyes. Brittany included, of course.

"You've grown up so much," she chokes out, feeling heat spread over her eyelids. "What are you now, like 20?"

Emily chuckles and swats at Santana's hands on her arms. "16," she corrects, eyes narrowing into a playful glare. "And you can't even call me short ass anymore, I'm like an inch taller than you."

Santana snorts. "You're always gonna be a short ass to me," she chuckles when Emily rocks onto the balls of her feet to prove the height difference and pushes on her shoulder to lower her back to the ground. "Annoying as hell, too."

"You can't say that anymore," Emily teases as they both turn to watch Anna embrace Brittany. "You have a set of standards to live up to."

Santana takes a few minutes to get it. "Because I'm in love with your sister?" She asks, brow arching.

"Because you're dating my sister," Emily retorts as she turns to Santana. "But yeah, in love too," she shrugs. "If you're into that sappy crap."

Her heart blooms when Neil joins in the hug too and it becomes a Brittany sandwich. Realizing she's staring in that sappy way she always does when she's alone with Brittany, she shakes herself out her thoughts and finds a smirking Emily watching her.

"Shut up," she says, features dropping. "What's the difference anyway? Between dating Britt and being in love with her? Because I'm pretty sure I'm doing both."

Emily crosses her arms and then steps in front of Santana when Anna calls both of them over. "_Urgh, _you're such a sap now," blue eyes roll and the young blonde begins to back away. "And because you've always been in love with B," Emily announces with a small shrug. "But now you're dating her so you've got to win over the family again, and you know," she scrunches her nose up. "You're kind of an ass now, so..." she teases with a grin.

Santana shakes her head and looks away, smiling. "If you weren't my girlfriend's sister I'd totally give you a noogie."

"Ooooh," Emily's eyes widen and she feigns fear by wiggling her fingers in the air. "I'm _so _scared of a _noogie_. Oh, please, Santana," she gasps and presses her clasped hands to her chest, mockingly. "Don't _noogie _me. That would be the worst type of torture in the world!"

"Well look who grew a pair over the last few years," Santana laughs, hand ruffing into blonde locks. "The little Emily I know still wets herself at eleven."

Emily's face reddens as she stops and drops her jaw, slapping Santana's hand away. "That was one time, Santana! And you made me laugh!"

"You were still eleven!" Santana replies, enjoying the young blonde's reactions.

She's always known how to wind Emily up. It's what she and Brittany spent the majority of their childhood doing. That's a type of skill that doesn't fade with time.

Rolling her eyes, she returns back to Emily who's staring at her with a light shade of pink at the tips of her ears and throws her arm over her shoulder, pulling her close.

"I'm joking, Pierce," she squeezes her and begins to walk them over to Anna who's beckoning her over into a family hug.

They all crowd together, arms wrapping together – Anna and Neil with Brittany and Emily on their arms and Santana sandwiched between the two younger Pierces – and she closes her eyes, revelling in the family aura surrounding her.

It doesn't matter that they're in Central Park, surrounded by other families and couples with their push chairs and Labradors, or that there's a homeless guy sleeping on a park bench not a quarter of a mile away; she's never felt more at home in her life.

* * *

><p>Santana's sitting on the picnic rug, legs stretched out and arms behind her as she watches Brittany throw around a frisbee with Neil. Anna headed off to the store around ten minutes ago and hasn't been back since, leaving Santana alone to watch and laugh.<p>

She thinks about her brother's words, and how the mere thought of proposing to Brittany makes her stomach flip and entire body buzz with excitement, and knows that it's exactly what she wants. It's exactly what she's wanted for, well, her entire life actually. Even if she never truly accepted it until the recent years, she's pretty sure her heart's always known, even when her head didn't.

Shifting her weight onto one arm, she reaches into her pocket and fishes out her phone, twisting it in her palm for four seconds as she gazes at Brittany who has Emily in her arms and is swinging her in circles whilst Neil laughs, hand pressed to his belly. She can't help the wide grin that spreads across her face when blue eyes flicker her way, nor can she help the rush of love that surges through her veins and warms her very soul as Brittany smiles _her _smile.

Santana's so incredibly in love with Brittany it's a wonder as to how she has spontaneously combusted from adoration and affection.

_Hi, _Brittany mouths, brushing a piece of blonde hair away from her flushed cheek and tucking it behind her ear. Emily's now on the ground, running towards Neil and Santana wants nothing more than Brittany in her arms right now.

So she beckons her forward with the hand holding the phone and mouths, _come here._

Brittany glances over towards Neil and Emily, checking to see their preoccupied and Santana only notices then that Anna's approaching them with a small pharmaceutical bag in her hand. A moment of panic later, Santana realizes that it's just a can of bug spray and laughs as she shakes her head. Anna's always been about mosquito spray in Summer; she never went without.

"Your mom bought bug spray again," she mutters when a shadow casts over her legs.

Brittany's chuckle is light and gorgeous. "She did," the blonde girl replies, crouching next to Santana and grazing the back of her knuckles across her cheek. "And she's gonna spray us with it soon, you know that right?"

"Babe, we're 25 years old," Santana argues, leaning into her girlfriend's touch and reaching out to tug Brittany into her lap. "We don't need to be looked after."

"You try telling her that."

They both chuckle and Santana buries her nose into the crook of a pale neck, nuzzling lightly and letting her lips brush delicately over the skin. Arms loops around her shoulders, dangling between her shoulder blades and with her left hand she hooks her fingers around long legs and tugs them so Brittany's sitting sidewards on her lap, ribs pressing into her torso. She breathes in deeply, loving the fact that her girlfriend's close enough to smell past the layer of perfume and inhale everything that's natural and sweet about Brittany, the only way Brittany could ever be.

It's time like these when Santana realizes Brittany is all she's ever going to want and need.

"_Santana! Brittany! Don't think because you're adults you're getting away from this!"_

"Oh God," Brittany groans and lifts her head, eyeing her mom from their position. "She's coming, San."

"Quick, Britt, you go distract her whilst I run away!" A light jab is applied to her upper arm and she feigns intense pain through a sharp gasp. "Hey!"

Brittany giggles and bumps their noses together when she dips slightly. "Shut up, dork. You're supposed to defend _me _whilst _I _run away."

Santana shrugs and tightens her hold on her girlfriend as she smiles, just because. "I'm just kidding, baby. I'll always protect you."

"Promise?"

"Pinky promise," she replies and breathes in deeply before tilting her neck and pressing their lips together, softly.

They hold still, just marvelling in the feeling of warm lips on lips and Santana smiles, unable to hold back the genuine happiness pulsing through her veins. Brittany mirrors the smile, almost breaking the kiss but then adjusts her arms and pulls Santana deeper into the kiss, causing her to whimper into it and dig her fingers into a slim waist. Every kiss they ever have, no matter how slow or chaste, always makes Santana feel like her body is alight, always makes her feel like she's glowing in a Godly aura and makes her wonder when the hell she got so damn lucky to call someone as perfect as Brittany _hers._

"Okay, okay," a voice calls. "You need some bug spray not lip action."

Santana giggles and breaks the kiss, then slides her lips across Brittany's cheek before dropping her forehead to her girlfriend's shoulder. Arms pull her tighter into a hug and she does just that in return, pulling the blonde girl in her lap closer whilst she continues chuckling because sure, they may be adults but it's still embarrassing to have one of their parents walk in whilst they're kissing.

"Mom," Brittany whines through a chuckle.

"Oh, I'm kidding, honey," Anna replies, standing above them with a hand stretched out as if to urge Brittany up. "But seriously, come on. Emily wants to play with her sister and you both need some bug spray."

"Fine," Brittany sighs and pinches Santana's chin between her thumb and forefinger and tilts up to press one last kiss to her lips. "Love you," she whispers when they break apart.

Santana flashes a dopey grin. "Love you too, Britt Britt."

With Anna still standing beside them – a puppy loving smile on her face – Brittany clambers off Santana's lap and stands, sending her a wink before grabbing the bug spray and starting in a slow jog off towards the other Pierces, throwing her arms around Neil and Emily when she gets there.

Santana lets out a deep sigh as her lips tug up at the side into a small, affectionate smile. One day, in the near future, she's going to marry that girl.

And she can't fucking wait.

* * *

><p>Somehow, Santana manages to get away from Anna and her bug spray.<p>

It's still amusing after all these years that momma Pierce is still so damn insistent about mosquito bites. Because come April next year, it'll be 17 years since the first time she went camping with the Pierces and discovered the slightly insane obsession with freaking bug spray. But whatever, she loves the Pierces and no strange fascination with mosquito repellent will affect that love.

Standing by one of the tall oak trees around 40 yards away from the Pierces, she dishes out her phone and quickly find the number she wants. It rings three times before anyone picks up, and it only takes that long for her to pick the bark off the tree out of nerves. She's never been good at keeping herself steady with big relationship things; in fact, she used to have a commitment phobia.

But she knows this is what she wants this time. She's one hundred percent sure that Brittany is what and who she wants for the rest of her life.

And only one person can help her.

"_Hello?"_

Santana straightens up and clears her throat, dropping her hand to her side as she turns her back to the Pierce's. "Hey, Q."

"_Hey. What's up?"_

"I need you to meet me outside of the Museum on Central Park West a.s.a.p."

A beat of silence comes down the phone. _"__Okay..." _the blonde drawls out. _"__What do you need?"_

"I'm gonna–" Santana glances around nervously; her collar suddenly getting hot with the fear Brittany can hear her. When she's sure she can't, seeing as Brittany's running to catch the flying Frisbee, Santana turns her back on them once more and continues, "I need to buy something."

"_And what's that?"_

"I just need to get something," she replies, reaching up to scratch at the bark of the wood again as her shoe scuffs along the dirt beneath her. "For Britt."

"_I'm not meeting you if I don't know what you're buying," _Quinn says, seriously. _"__I'm not getting arrested."_

Santana narrows her eyes in disbelief, processing her friend's words. "I'm not buying fucking drugs, Fabray. I just need you to do me a damn favour and meet me, okay?"

In all honesty, she did have a fleeting wish that Quinn wouldn't ask any questions and just do it. But by now she should know that wouldn't have happened. There's no way in hell Quinn would trek over to Central Park with no reason as to why she's doing it. The girl lives near the Bronx. It's a pretty long way for her so Santana understands.

"_Fine," _Quinn answers after a long moment. _"__But I swear to God to make this worth it you better by buying a goddamn ring."_

She doesn't even mean to, but Santana chokes at the statement and begins spluttering a few words that would probably sound like _what the fuck _if she hadn't been so caught off guard.

"What? A ring? Who said anything about a ring? I'm not buying a ring," she quickly denies, heat rushing to her face.

But judging by the silence that follows, she knows all has been revealed.

"_Holy shit! You _are _buying a ring!" _Quinn exclaims and Santana snaps her head around, scared Brittany can hear their conversation.

"Shut it, Fabray. Fuck."

"_Damn, Santana. And you're _actually _going to do it?"_

Santana's head jerks back and she scowls. "What do you mean, 'actually going to do it'?"

"_Just that you should have done a lot of things because you knew they were right and you were too chicken shit to do them," _Quinn retorts in tone that makes Santana think she's shrugging.

Offended, she scoffs. "Wow, well, someone had a bowl of bitchflakes this morning."

"_No, Santana, don't get me wrong. I mean, sure, you and Britt are meant to be. You're soul mates," _her heart jolts and flips a little. _"__But if you're going to buy a ring and propose, you've got to make sure you're in it one hundred percent. You two have only been together for a few months, S and you know what happened last time..."_

Santana nods, understanding Quinn's worries but dismissing them as soon as they process in her mind. "I know we've only been together for a few months officially, Fabray. But really, we've been together all our lives. Brittany is nothing like Sophie was. There was always this little inkling in the back of my mind about Sophie but I put it down to nerves," she breathes in deeply through her nose, a strange sense of remembering pooling in her chest.

"But trust me, I've thought about this and I know what I want," she turns around and points her gaze towards Brittany who glances back at her almost immediately. She fucking loves how they can sense when they're looking at each other. "Marriage is what I want and I only want it with Brittany," she explains and rolls her shoulders in a small shrug, her heart expanding as she stares at her object of affection. "She's my everything and I want everyone to know that with two silver rings and a piece of paper."

"_You're really sure about this, huh?"_

"I've never been more sure of anything, Quinn," she replies, a little shocked by the sincerity in her tone. "Just... Can be you be here in like, twenty?"

"_Twenty minutes? Sure. I'll meet you outside the Museum."_

Santana grins widely. "Great. Bye, Q," she says a little breathless – because _yeah, _she's going to do this – and pulls the phone away from her ear.

But not before she hears Quinn yell, _"__Remember to get her ring size!" _down the end of the line.

* * *

><p>All was good before Quinn mentioned the whole ring size thing.<p>

But now she's kind of in a pickle.

Brittany's always been a ring kind of girl, but Santana's been the necklace kind of girl. So, to be honest, she doesn't really have a damn clue what the different sizes are. All she knows is there's some letters or numbers or something, but even if she was given a flashlight and a map there's no way in hell she could find out subtly what Brittany's ring size is.

Before she can conjure up some genius plan, Anna calls her name and breaks her from her thoughts. She relaxes her face, realizing how tense it was before and runs a hand over her aching muscles in attempt to relieve some of the stress she feels.

"Hey, Santana! Get your ass over here!"

"Emily!" Neil scalds.

"Dad, I'm 16! I can say _ass!_"

Santana chuckles and climbs to her feet, slowly making her way over to the blanket that occupies all the Pierces. Brittany flashes a toothy smile when she gets there and her mind is temporarily dazed as she lowers herself and takes a seat behind her girlfriend, spreading her legs either side of her body and urging the blonde back until their bodies are pressed together.

"Hey, babe," she whispers, dusting a soft kiss behind Brittany's ear.

Brittany shudders lightly and squeezes her thigh. "Hi, honey. Do you want some pie?"

Santana nods and reaches down to slide her fingers through Brittany's, whose hand is now laying gently on her leg. She strokes over her ring finger subconsciously and breathes out heavily, realizing all ideas as to how to get the size of the damn thing are either too obvious or just straight up weird. It seems her girlfriend senses her thoughts because she elbows her lightly in the stomach and pulls her brows together, silently questioning because they're in company and she knows Santana doesn't like to publicly announce her worries.

_What's wrong? _Brittany mouths after a moment.

Shaking her head, she mouths _nothing, babe _back and squeezes her girlfriend's hand, her mind thrumming with possibilities of how to get Brittany's ring size. Currently, her girlfriend has a patterned stainless steel band wrapped around her middle finger on the right hand, but even then all fingers have different sizes and it'd be pretty damn tricky to steal the ring whilst it's still on Brittany's finger. That's just some James Bond shit and apparently her secret agent skills aren't up to par today.

Then there's always the possibility of just going with it and guessing Brittany's ring size, because surely most people have standard finger sizes? But then that means running the risk of getting it wrong and ending up sliding the ring onto Brittany's finger and either not being able to make it fit properly, or having her girlfriend tilt her hand down to watch the diamond sparkle in the light and it fall straight off because it's too big.

When the hell did proposing get so damn complicated?

Anna serves the pie, sliding a slice onto paper plates and handing them out to everyone. Santana smiles in thanks and takes it with her free hand, realizing that cuddling Brittany and eating at the same time isn't exactly possible. Her girlfriend comes to that conclusion before her, and beats her to it by shuffling forward and clambering over her leg to sit by her side, cross legged. As soon as she sits though, Santana moves until their kneecaps are touching – because it seems she just can't _not _touch Brittany when she's near – and Brittany twists her head and shoots her an adoring smile that makes her body buzz with love.

"Ugh, could you two like, give it a break for a minute? I'm trying to _eat _here."

Santana whips her head around and glares at Emily. "Then _eat, _pint size."

Emily rolls her eyes, but there's a smile on her face and Santana can't not mirror it. She hears Brittany giggle beside her and then Anna and Neil join in and feels that same warmth pool around her heart, telling her that this is what home feels like.

* * *

><p>They eat their dessert and trade little stories of what they've been up to in the past year or so. Neil tells Santana all about the chemotherapy and how his disease went into remission so he's in the clear for a while, whilst Emily questions Brittany about how she and Santana got together. Obviously, Neil's story is shorter than Brittany's response, and so when their conversation dies out, everyone turns their attention to Brittany and listens to their strange little fairytale.<p>

Around Christmas time – where Brittany sends Santana a wink when talking about Christmas Day, but makes sure not to delve into the details behind the gesture – Santana hums out and her mind begins to wander off to their very first time intimately touching each other. It'd been incredible, and whereas it was something that two fourteen year old's would've done on a movie night, it hadn't seemed like it at all.

Then, out the corner of her eye, she catches something and begins focusing on that instead.

"Then of course Sophie came back," Brittany sighs and Emily drops her hands to the floor, releasing the little daisy chain in her hand and reacts to her sister's words with a slacked jaw and wide eyes. "And I went home because I just couldn't handle being around them."

Except Santana's not really paying attention because at the same time Brittany speaks, she reaches out and pinches the daisy chain between her fingers before bringing it back to her lap. She toys with it for a few seconds, running the looped stems together and then brushes her pads delicately over the petals of the flower, but then pauses when an idea pops into her head and all concern seeps out of her.

_Perfect._

The story continues, and the longer it goes on the more Brittany's face pulls together in disapproval of the memory, and it's almost instinctual for Santana to shuffle closer. And by the end of their tale, she's sitting behind her girlfriend again, arms wrapped around her midsection, their fingers twined together on top of Brittany's lap and chin resting on her shoulder to reassure her that the past is the past, and they wouldn't have got here without it.

Anna claps her hands together when Brittany finishes off with their big kiss in the rain after the five smiles, and Neil presses a closed fist to his mouth, his eyes glossing over. Emily, however, tries not to show any emotion and quickly wipes away the tears trickling down her cheeks before shrugging and feigning indifference. Rolling her eyes, Santana scrunches her nose and stretches forward to kiss Brittany on the cheek.

"_So _cheesy," Emily draws out in what can only be described as a teenagers tone and climbs to her feet. "Come on, let's go and play some more Frisbee."

Neil and Anna pinch their lips together but then laugh. It irks Emily and so just to piss her off a little more, Santana joins in and pokes her tongue out at the youngest blonde as Brittany's parents stand and the blonde man grabs the Frisbee off the floor by their picnic rug.

"Are you two coming?" He asks, sending them slightly hopeful smiles.

The lunch was pretty big though, and she's not entirely sure she could move if she wanted to right now. So she shakes her head and offers a grin, "No, thank you. I'm just gonna sit here for a bit and let my stomach settle." She rotates her head a little to glance at her girlfriend, "What about you, babe?"

"Nah," Brittany replies, settling further into her body and relaxing. "I'm good thank you, Daddy."

"Okay. Well come over and join us if you get bored," Neil winks at them and then turns to join Anna and Emily as they begin to throw around the Frisbee.

"Will do."

Silence settles in – well, apart from the city traffic sounds, people talking and a few birds – but that pretty much is the closest you'll get to silence in the Big Apple.

Brittany breathes out in front of her, their bodies moulding together and Santana closes her eyes and buries her face into golden locks, inhaling the delectable scent of strawberry shampoo and the underlying sweetness that is Brittany. She toys with long fingers, running her thumbs along the length of them and back up as she thinks of a way to proceed with her little plan.

Luck is on her side, though, because sitting directly beside the is a small gathering of daisy's and as soon as she realizes they're there, Brittany begins to pluck a few from the ground and thread them together into a daisy chain. Sisters are so very alike.

"Hold up," Santana whispers, not wanting the opportune moment to pass. "Gimme," she beckons by releasing her hands and offering them out palm up.

Brittany doesn't question it, instead drops the flowers into her hand and then turns her head slightly, her breath hitting the ledge of Santana's jaw. It sends vibrations through her body but she pointedly ignores them, resisting the urge to kiss Brittany and momentarily forget her little complication and replace it with warm, soft lips.

"What'cha doing, babe?" Brittany questions as Santana lifts her girlfriend's right hand – thinking that maybe lifting the left would be a little obvious – and spreads her fingers until her ring finger is sticking out from the others. She doesn't answer her girlfriend, and juts her head down to encourage the blonde to watch and get her response.

Taking the daisy with the longest stem from her own hand, she drops the other flowers into Brittany's lap and begins her little mission. She's got to do this in the least suspicious way possible, but right now she can't seem to think of a way in which it _wouldn't _seem suspicious and it's not like she can stop to ponder. She's already started and so she'll have to go with it and think later.

Handing the stem with the utmost care, Santana loops it around the base of Brittany's finger near the middle knuckle of her finger, and brings it round to the top. Blue eyes watch every movement and a little jolt thrums through her chest when her mind shoots to the proposal and how it'll feel to be doing this with a _real _ring that represents her eternal commitment to Brittany. With the tip of her fingernail, she twists the stem and slices a tiny slit near the petals at the top to create a slot for base, then delicately pulls the daisy right around and slides the very end of the daisy up through the top.

It creates a ring type loop, made of daisies, and moving it further down Brittany's finger – until it touches the webbing – Santana tightens it up and peels her hands away to look at her work. Her girlfriend lifts her hand and stares at it with a small smile on her face – the shy one, Santana notes – and then turns her head to kiss her on the cheek.

"Thank you," she whispers with affection in her tone as she pulls away and looks at Santana in the eye. Santana registers the slight shyness in her face and wonders if anyone's ever done something like that, even though it's just a daisy chain. "It's lovely, but where did you learn to make that?"

Santana smiles and nuzzles her nose against a pale one. "No problem. And if you ever told him this, he'd probably kill me, but Tony taught me," she chuckles but then the memory of why sinks in and she shakes her head. "It was a few days after my dad left and my mom got really, really drunk so he brought me here cos he didn't want me to see her in that state. I don't think I've seen her in a worse state, actually," she shakes it off and breathes out heavily. "But anyway, to take my mind off it, Tony showed me how to make daisy chains and daisy rings and I've never forgotten."

Brittany frowns and presses her lips together, twisting her body around until she's sitting on Santana's lap sidewards. "That's really cute, San, but why did you come here? Why didn't you come to my house?"

"You were on holiday, Britt," she breathes out, reaching up to stroke over her girlfriend's cheekbone with the back of her hand. "And it was only like, a few weeks after we met."

"Still, you should've called me."

"Britt, those paper cups don't actually work as phones," she jokes.

"Your brother had a phone and so did my mom!"

"It doesn't matter anymore," Santana whispers and tilts their foreheads together. "I came to you every other time."

Brittany doesn't look any happier, though. "I should've been there for you though," she replies, lips pinching up at the side and eyes avoiding brown ones as she runs a finger down the column of Santana's throat. "You shouldn't have to deal with family stuff like that alone."

"I wasn't alone. I mean, I had Tony," Santana shifts into a more comfortable position and loops one arm around her girlfriend's back and throws the other over long legs. "And my mom and dad aren't family," she punctuates with a kiss to Brittany's forehead. "You guys are," she gestures out to the rest of the Pierces. "And you always have been."

"No, but they're family by blood, San."

"Blood doesn't make family," she shrugs. "Love does."

Brittany sighs but doesn't answer as she leans in and wriggles closer. Santana wraps her arms around her and breathes out deeply, eyes closing against the warmth of the sun beating down on her. This, right here, is something she could quite happily do for the rest of her life. Here with Brittany, she doesn't think there's anywhere else she'd rather be.

Except she knows there's somewhere she's _supposed_ to be right now, and she's already running late.

"Hey, Britt?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I try it on?" Santana asks, nodding her head down towards the daisy ring when Brittany cocks a brow. "The daisy ring?"

A smile is flashed her way as long fingers gently pick off the ring, careful not to damage it. "Of course, baby," Brittany says, her voice soft and sweet. "Give me your hand."

Doing as she's told, Santana holds out her right hand – suddenly nervous that Brittany can sense her thoughts and plans – and watches as her girlfriend slides the ring up her finger and down to the base of her index finger. A fluttering echoes through her chest, almost similar to the one she felt when she was tying the daisy together on Brittany's finger, and she thinks, yeah, there's nothing more she wants to do than make Brittany her officially, forever and always with two rings and a certificate of their eternal commitment and love.

"Thank you," she whispers, tilting her head and pressing a soft kiss to pink lips.

Brittany wrinkles her nose up but a light pink tinge dusts over the freckles on her cheeks like she knows _exactly _how Santana felt when sliding that daisy ring on. "No problem."

It's at that moment, conveniently, that Brittany's name is called and Santana glances up to find Neil and Emily waving her girlfriend over as there's a chocolate labrador puppy making circles around the youngest blonde's legs, and it's no secret that Brittany's a sucker for puppies in general, but chocolate labs are her kryptonite.

"You mind if I go over there?" Brittany asks, her voice a pitch higher and filled with excitement, her blue eyes sparkling and beaming to mirror that emotion, too. Santana can't help but tick that smile off in her head. She wonders if she'll ever stop falling more and more in love with Brittany's five smiles. And her, actually.

Santana struggles to focus because Brittany's like, the most adorable thing ever, but clears her mind and answers, "No, of course not, babe. I've got to go and meet Quinn anyway."

Half-standing, blue eyes flash to her, quizzical. "You've got to meet Quinn? What for?"

Panic surges through her and Santana knows to keep a straight face because the blonde girl can read her like a second grader's book, but still, it makes heat spread across her body and prick at her cheeks because even her damn body doesn't like lying to Brittany. Probably why she's having such a hard time searching through her brain to find a liable excuse as to why she's going. It's also probably why this comes out:

"I think Quinn's searching for apartments for her and Berry."

Brittany nods, but runs her tongue along her teeth like she doesn't believe it. "I thought they already moved in together? And why the new apartment?"

"Apparently due to Berry's salary they can afford something a little bigger," Santana answers, almost shocked that her mind's producing such a believable lie. "And of course the midget's all emotional and sappy and crap and wants a '_house that's theirs together_'," she quotes with two fingers in a funny mimicry of Rachel's voice.

"Santana," Brittany warns, lowly, smoothing out her tank top with a disapproving face. "Stop it. I think it's cute."

"If cute means nauseating, then yeah," Santana climbs to her feet. "But anyway," she takes her girlfriend's hands and shuffles closer. "Quinn asked for some help so I'm gonna go to the real estate agent and have a browse around since apparently I know my shit," she smiles and watches Brittany nod before kissing her softly and then mumbling against her mouth, "It won't take too long, I promise."

"Okay," her girlfriend drawls out, swinging their hands between them. "You go and I'll tell them over there otherwise my mom will insist you have your coating of bug spray and the realtor will wonder why you smell funny."

Santana chuckles. "Oh, God, okay. Cover me whilst I make my escape, babe?"

Brittany rolls her eyes but there's a large grin on her face that means it's playful. "You're such a goober."

Smiling, she brings their mouths together again in a slightly deeper kiss, sucking Santana's bottom lip between her own and teasing her tongue along the edge, slowly. Head a little loopy, Santana pulls away with a goofy smile and feels lips touch the end of her nose before Brittany backs away and waves her hand, dramatically.

"Go, baby! Go! Before she can catch you with her evil bug spray!"

Out the corner of her eye, Anna whips her head around and then begins to start in a slow jog towards Santana, but Brittany leaps in front and blocks her path whilst still waving erratically. And even though she looks like a complete manic, Santana can't quite wait until she gets to share that girl's last name, which she's now a step closer to as she has Brittany's ring size in a daisy ring around her finger.

* * *

><p>"You're late," Quinn snaps as soon as Santana stops by the bottom of the Museum's stone steps.<p>

"Maybe you're just early."

The blonde doesn't look amused as she stands and descends the stairs, crossing her arms and stopping when she's one above Santana. "You said twenty minutes. It's been thirty."

"Ah," Santana starts, smirking. "I didn't say twenty minutes from _when _though. You just assumed I meant from the moment we got off the phone."

Quinn rolls her eyes but she still smiles. "Whatever. Are we going to buy the ring or not?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking we hit up Greenwich Jewellers first, then head over to Tiffany's."

"Tiffany's? Springing for the expensive shit now are we?"

Santana scowls at her friend as they start heading down the street. "Shut up. Brittany deserves the best."

"She does after what you put her through," Quinn replies, flatly, and Santana just looks away, fed up of the constant reminder of her past mistakes. Usually it never comes up this much, but she guesses with the whole engagement thing arising, her friend is just trying to make sure this is what she wants and, in her own fucked up kind of way, is looking out for her. After all, the first time didn't exactly go well.

But there's no comparison between Brittany and Sophie; Brittany's on another level.

They turn down west 81st street, and there's a line of taxi's waiting for them. They climb into the first one they reach and Santana leans forward to mutter "Greenwich Jewellers down on Trinity Place" into the driver's ear.

As soon as the cab peels away from the curb, Quinn clears her throat and says, "So why are you doing it anyway?" Her eyes widen and she braces herself, palms down on the leather seat and arms straight in shock. "Oh, God, you didn't knock her up did you?"

"No, Q, I didn't knock her up," Santana denies, glancing out the window to conceal the smile on her lips as she thinks why she's doing. "I'm doing it because I want her, now and forever."

"Santana," Quinn starts and already she can tell that the blonde is about to say something that might possibly piss her off. It's just that damn tone and yeah, they haven't been friends since kindergarten or anything, but she's already learning how to read Quinn like a book.

"I'm going to say something and I don't want you to get pissed, but," she takes in a breath and swivels in her seat so she's facing Santana. "You two have only been together six months, and considering you and Soph–"

"Stop," Santana's eyes flash to her in a glare and instantly the blonde shuts up. "Don't compare them, Fabray. They're _nothing _alike. I know Britt and I haven't been together long but... But I just know that we're meant to be," she shrugs and tries to fight the smile that tugs at her lips, but fails. "She's my lobster and I should have been with her all along."

Hazel eyes study her for long moments, but then the indecision on her face fades and it's replaced by a genuine grin. "You really wanna marry her, huh?"

"I do," Santana answers, grinning due to the pun and her friend laughs.

"So she's not pregnant?"

Brown eyes roll. "No, Fabray. She's not pregnant. She's on contraception and we're not there, yet."

Quinn eyes her, raising a perfectly shaped brow and obviously withholding the '_awww_' that she wants to let out, judging by her expression. "Yet?"

Despite the intense flutterings inside her stomach for the thought of miniature Brittany and Santanas running around their suburban house just outside of New York, she shakes her head but can't seem to stop grinning. "Shut up, Q."

They stay silent for the rest of the journey, but the smile never leaves Santana's face.

* * *

><p>Four hours in and they've been to so many jewellers she think she might actually vomit if she goes into another one. The greeters – who must have like, graduated with ass kissing honors in brown nosing – have all worn the same cheesy grin that says <em>we're going to take your money <em>and then when Santana walked out, without thousands of dollars of jewellery in around her wrist or dangling off her ears, they curled their upper lip in disgust and didn't even wave them goodbye.

They've been traipsing around what feels like billions of jewellery stores, and still, Santana's lacking a damn engagement ring. Some of the rings have been well over five thousand dollars, and yet they looked like a five year old created them with a pair of pliers and some really shiny scrap metal. Absolutely none of them have been even remotely acceptable or managed to take Santana's breath away and now, standing inside Michael Fina – a jeweller who is renowned for engagement rings – the same continues, and the frustration just gets too damn much.

Ignoring the snooty man behind the counter, who's trying to eye fuck the shit out of Quinn – _good luck, mate –_ Santana spins on her heel and storms out the shop, barging into a few other customers on the way out. The frustration and anger she feels is so damn much she doesn't even stop to apologize to the innocent people. They just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw the wrath of Snix unveil herself.

"Fuck!" She yells when she gets outside, reaching up to grab her hair in tightly clenched fistfuls. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

Footsteps come from behind her and a second later a hand brushes over her shoulder, a voice following. "S, keep the crazy down. You're literally scaring children away, here."

Santana glances up, catching a mother with a concerned expression, hastily dragging her daughter away who's face is contorted with fear. If they hadn't just spent the past four hours trying to find a ring, that frankly, she doesn't actually think exists, she'd probably find that a little amusing that she's scaring off a kid. Who is she, the Hulk?

"Shut up, Fabray," she growls, sinking into a crouch as if this position will cause the anger to disappear.

"If you're gonna be rude to me I'm more than happy to go home."

Santana covers her face with her palms, rubbing up and down. "Whatever," she replies, her voice a pitch lower. "Go home if you want," she drops her hands and hangs them off her legs, forearms pressed to thighs whilst she scowls off into the distance. "This has all gone to shit anyway."

"S, there's more jewellers in New York, you know. We can just go to the–"

"No, Quinn," she hisses. "No, we fucking can't. It's fucking _pointless_. We've been to like, a million stores and _nothing_," she rakes her nails through her hair, roughly, tugging at the ends to relieve some of the built up tension in her mind. "Fuck sake. This was supposed to be perfect and spontaneous and I can't even find a god damn _ring_."

Quinn moves closer, hand coming up to her shoulder as a few more children walk past, their parents looking increasingly concerned.. "Swearing on the DL, too, Santana," she tugs her friend up and then proceeds to pull her down the street and into an alley; somewhere where no children will hear Santana's atrocious language.

Scowling, Santana leans back against the wall and lets her head roll backwards, the back of it thumping against the brick but the want to care completely lacking from her body.

"We've just been to Michael-_fucking_-Fina, Santana. There's thousands of rings there so why can't you just pick one? It's not like you're lacking from choice there."

Quinn's voice bleeds frustration, but Santana can't bring herself to give a crap because now she's going to have to go back to the damn park, with the urge to propose but no way to actually proceed without the damn ring. Well, okay, maybe she could propose without a ring but she's seen that shit happen in the movies and it's just fucking stupid. If someone's going to propose, they need a damn ring. It should be a strict rule, punishable by a hefty fine or something.

"Come on, Lopez," her friend continues. "Just go back in and pick one."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I just... I just can't, Q," she lifts her head from the wall to stare at the other girl. "So just fucking drop it, yeah?"

She's halfway through pushing off the wall when a hand presses against the front of her shoulder and forces her back into the brick. Caught completely off guard, Santana lands a little heavier and gapes at her friend, not entirely sure of how to respond or react to the shove. What the hell did she even do?

"No," Quinn's face is hard and her eyes are sharp as she demands, "Why the hell can't you just pick one?"

"Because they're just not fucking Brittany, okay?" She half-screeches, the passers by glaring down the alley with furrowed brows.

"And what the fuck is that? What is _Brittany?_"

"It's wonderful," she replies like it's the easiest answer in the world. "It's unique and one of a kind. It's a diamond in the rough and the first glimpse of sun on a rainy day." Quinn's face softens and a small smile tugs at her lips. "_That's_ Brittany and I want a ring that's like that."

"I want a ring that stands out from the crowd and is incredible in every single damn way," Santana licks her lips and breathes out through her nose, her heart doing silly things inside her chest as she thinks of her girlfriend. "I want that ring that I can see Brittany's eyes lighting up too, and her smile growing impossibly wide because it's _the _ring. I want the ring I can see her saying yes to, Quinn," she drops her head and rolls it on her neck, reaching up to rub the back of it with her left hand. "I just want the perfect ring for a perfect girl, and I haven't found it."

Quinn stays completely silent, but Santana can't tell her reaction to her words as she's gazing at her Chucks as one scraps along the ground. Despite that though, she can still tell the silence is only because her friend doesn't know what to say, and it pisses her off, even if it is completely irrational. The only reason she invited Quinn is because in situations like this she needs someone to help, and whereas she'd usually go to Brittany for this, she obviously can't and frankly, Quinn's doing fuck all to help her.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea, and not just inviting Quinn along.

"Let's just leave," she lets out through a long exhale, lifting her head and staring at the cars that pass. "It wasn't meant to be, today."

Quinn purses her lips and studies her for a long moment before nodding. "It's your choice, Santana," she says in a voice that's way too understanding for Quinn Fabray. "If you think that then there you go, but if you want to do this then I'll stay with you and we can go and look more."

Santana shakes her head, disappointment running through her and making her insides sink. This was meant to be such an amazing day, and she didn't even want to spend a minute away from Brittany seeing as it's her damn birthday. But she thought even if she did leave her, it would only be because it would make the evening a million times better since the hours spent apart were used to buy an engagement ring.

She was looking so damn forward to it, as well._Fuck._

"Let's just go," she repeats and begins to walk down the street. "You go back to Frodo and I'll head back to Central Park. We can share a cab and split it to make it cheaper."

Her friend doesn't argue, instead just keeps her mouth shut as Santana waves her arm around to hail a cab. It just seems that the world hates her, though, because several empty cabs drive past without even bothering to stop and the frustration builds and builds until the back of her throat aches with the need for nicotine. She knows Brittany will be pissed at her for smoking, but right now it's just something she needs and hopefully her girlfriend will understand that, even if Santana can't exactly explain to her _why _she's so pissed off.

"You call a cab, Q, I'll be back in a sec."

Quinn eyes her, curiously. "Where you going?"

Santana nods her head towards the 7-11 on the corner of the street. "I need a cigarette."

"You know she's gonna know," her friend says, lowly.

Santana shrugs. "I'll get some gum, too."

Quinn looks like she's wanting to say more but just closes her mouth, sucks in her lips and rolls her shoulder as if to say _your funeral._

* * *

><p><strong>Sad times guys - only one more part until the end of this story! :(<strong>


	31. chapter thirty part two

**Title: **If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love) [Chapter Thirty – Part Two]  
><strong>Rating: <strong>M  
><strong>Summary: <strong>They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story is completely fictional and set in an Alternate Universe. I don't own anything to do with Glee. Or any parts to do with Brown Sugar!  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>15.1k

**Notes: **I can't even begin to thank my beta for helping me with this story! She's been amazing and you guys should be SERIOUSLY jealous. Not only have I gained a beta through this story, but I've also gained a friend and that's pretty awesome. So thank you beta, you know who you are, and you've been so wonderful I can't even put it into words! HUGS HUGS HUGS!

* * *

><p>The last time she smoked was at New Years, and that was only because she couldn't handle seeing Brittany and Mike together, looking happier than ever she's ever seen her. Santana even went as far as to buy half a pack off some random guy at Quinn's party and smoke all of them consecutively, just so she could focus on the burning in her throat instead of the one in her heart.<p>

But now isn't like that. Although it kind of is. Instead of needing to forget about heartache, she needs to forget about anger and the only thing within buying distance is a cigarette, so that'll just have to do. Brittany will kill her though if she ever finds out.

(She's so whipped.)

She steps into the shop, almost tripping over the folded welcome rug, and grunts as she heads up to the cigarette counter. The cashier immediately looks over the old lady he's serving, looking at Santana like she just stepped in with a gun but quickly removes his gaze from her direction. She can only assume it's because of her expression right now, because even when she's not trying her scowl is pretty frightening, but now that she's actually putting effort into it she's almost shocked the guy hasn't run off crying. _Yet._

"That'll be ten dollars and fifty two cents," the cashier drones, holding his hand out towards the old lady.

The old lady, however, doesn't seem ready to pay and obviously has to debate the total cost of her items because they're not priced the way they were back when she was a kid - which is probably the middle ages or something - and Santana almost decides then and there to just say _screw the cigarettes _and walk out. _Almost._

Burying her hands deep into her jacket pocket, Santana closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, trying to calm herself before her fingers are twitching with the need for a cigarette and her throat is aching for one too. She moves her thoughts onto other things, things that don't include shoving the old woman over, because let's be honest, she'd probably pop her hip out and then Santana would feel all kinds of bad, and begins to tap her foot along to the beat of the dimmed music in the background.

Today was supposed to be perfect; perfect morning, perfect afternoon and then a perfect evening, topped off with a nice, shiny proposal and a yes that would make both of their lives. But no, of course not. Because nothing ever just happens like that and so now Santana's ending her mostly perfect day with a cigarette and the knowledge that a possible argument might arise later this evening when Brittany hugs her and smells smoke. No matter how much perfume she puts on, her girlfriend always seems to smell it; she's like a freaking bloodhound.

"...No, not in my days. This would have been less than a dollar," the old lady continues.

Santana feels frustration bubble in the pit of her stomach as she listens. She's trying to tell herself that punching an old woman wouldn't make her look like the best person on the world, but she's just in _that _kind of mood where she doesn't really give a crap.

Stretching her neck from side to side, she feels her bones crack and pop into place and rolls her head. It's been a long day and she's pretty damn tired. This morning and her early present to Brittany probably has something to do with that – because her body is still kind of aching like she's done a four hour work out (which is basically equivalent to an hour of sex with Brittany) – but she definitely wouldn't take that back if she could. Spending an afternoon with the Pierces has worn her out too, and tonight she's got to entertain the most nauseating couple in the whole world.

Oh, the joys of having friends.

Santana turns her attention back to the woman in front of her, clenching her jaw and narrowing her eyes. In about three seconds she's gonna snap and just step barge the woman out the way. This is just ridiculous and Quinn's probably waiting outside with an impatient cab driver whilst this stupid old woman–

It's small. It's barely even there really but as she rambles on in her mind she twists her head to look at her friend and she sees it. She's pretty sure her feelings towards this woman have gone from intense hatred to blossoming love because if it wasn't for her spending a million minutes talking to the cashier Santana wouldn't have turned around, and she wouldn't have seen that little store down the alley, across the street.

Not to mention she won't get her ass kicked for smoking now, because she didn't even get as far as buying a pack.

* * *

><p>Santana's out the market store and grabbing Quinn's elbow before her mind tells her to. She didn't even know she could move this damn fast and is now risking both their lives by pointedly <em>not <em>looking for traffic as she crosses the road. She's so focused on getting to this damn store that not even a two ton car slamming into her side could stop her.

"Whoah, Santana!" Her friend screeches, struggling to remove her arm from Santana's grip. "What the fuck are you doing!?"

Santana ignores her though, and keeps tugging her across the road.

"Seriously? Are you _trying _to get us killed?" Quinn continues, finally able to yank her wrist free when Santana loosens her grip a little. The blonde wraps her hand around her wrist, and rubs over it a few times like movie stars do in films when handcuffs are removed.

"Well if you hurried your fat ass up then I wouldn't have _had _to drag you across the road," Santana quips, still moving at an inhuman pace towards her destination. Her heart's beating loudly and there's a little lightness growing in her chest that wasn't there before. She has a good feeling about this store; it's not like it's let her down before.

"You just freaking _grabbed _me. Didn't even have the decency to tell me where we're going. Which," Quinn has to break into a jog to catch up with her. "You _still _haven't told me."

The store is about five meters away when Santana points to it, and Quinn furrows her brows, confused for a split second before she follows her hand and glances at said destination. Hazel eyes narrow, then relax back and flicker Santana's way quizzically. So Santana just shakes her head and continues towards the store until she's pressing a palm to the handle and pushing it open, holding for Quinn to come through behind her.

It's exactly the same as it was before. Memories wash over her from the year before and she breathes out with a smile as her eyes take in the several different glass displays in the window, filled with various glass and ceramic objects like vases and plates. There's a few shot glasses too, like there were last time, and then as her memory serves her well, she glances to the far left and sees the line of jewellery on a black velvet covered table.

It's slightly tacky, mostly because it looks like a magicians tent at a circus, but it doesn't matter. Something feels good about this place. Something just feels so _right._

"What is this place?" Quinn asks at the same time a redheaded woman steps out from the back with wide eyes and an innocent smile.

Santana ignores her friend in favor for the shop owner and takes a step towards her, offering a slightly weary smile. The shop must have hundreds of customers and it's been a good amount of time since she was here last, so she's not expecting the redhead to remember her.

That conclusion is quickly erased when the red-headed woman steps up behind the counter and a spark of recognition crosses her face and brightens her eyes. She offers a smile to Santana, but not a store owners smile, instead it's a smile that makes Santana feel like they've been friends for years and even though they haven't, it kind of feels like it. After all, this woman – even if she doesn't know – helped the journey towards the happy ending Santana got.

"Hi," Santana starts, moving towards the counter, racking through her mind for the woman's name. _Emma, _if she remembers correctly. "I don't know if you remember me bu–"

Emma's lips press together and curl at the edge slightly. "I do remember you," she cuts in, gracefully. "You bought a purple vase last December with your..." she narrows her eyes, clasping her hands together and resting them on the top. "Your blonde friend."

"Yeah," Santana nods, shocked and slightly flattered. Why would this woman remember her? "You have a good memory."

"No, not usually," Emma slides out from behind the counter, revealing her dark green knee length skirt and white purple blouse, neatly tucked in at the waist. "But you tend to remember seeing two people who were so in love with each other and didn't even know it."

A soft smile graces Santana's lips, and she ducks her head, a little embarrassed.

"And you nearly destroyed half my shop with your rendition of the Single Ladies dance."

This time, Santana ducks her chin to her chest, hiding the blush that creeps high on her cheekbones. She remembers how things were back then and gets this strange twinge of nostalgia. Not because she misses it, but because everything was so different back then. She was still horribly in denial of the way she felt about Brittany and yet she was so willing to make an absolute fool of herself in the middle of a store just to make her smile.

If that isn't love, she doesn't know what is.

"Santana Lopez did a rendition of the Single Ladies dance?" Quinn pops up beside her, an amused smile on her face and arms crossed.

Santana's eyes flash to her in a glare. "Shut up, Fabitch. It was for Brittany."

"Awh," her friend coos, sarcastically. "How sweet."

Rolling her eyes, Santana turns her attention back to the Emma and smiles softly, realizing that the store owner has been looking between the women with absolutely no idea what to say. Friendship isn't usually as teasing or rude as theirs is, yet here they are, cursing at each other, if only in small doses.

"Sorry," she starts, realizing she hasn't done introductions. "This is my friend, Quinn," she sweeps her hand in a gesture to said woman. "And Quinn, this is Emma."

Quinn smiles at the Emma who smiles in return. "Lovely to meet you."

"You too, Quinn. So," Emma glances at Santana. "So is this your new... _friend?_**"**

It takes a second or two to get what the woman means but then Santana drops her mouth into an 'o' shape, widens her eyes as large as they can go and proceeds to shake her head furiously.

"Oh dear God no," she says, stepping away from Quinn with a slight disgusted curl to her lip. "I'm with Brittany, still," Emma squints in confusion. "You know, my _friend _from before. She's actually my girlfriend now," she announces triumphantly, ignoring the way her stomach still flutters whenever she says that. She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of it.

Emma claps her hand together, face lighting up in excitement. "How lovely!"

"Yeah," Santana nods, grinning like an idiot and loving the way even a stranger adores their relationship. That reminds her, _shit, _the ring. "That's um, actually why I'm here."

Quinn chuckles behind her and she kicks out blindly, hitting something hard and feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over her when a groan follows it. Santana smiles, a little too forced, and then brings her hand up to rub at the back of her neck, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more nervous than she did the other fourteen times she's announced to someone she's getting engaged.

"I'm..." she trails off and breathes in deeply, shaking off the nerves pulsing through her body. "I'm going to ask Brittany to marry me and I need a ring."

Narrowing her eyes, Emma reaches up and taps her chin, a slow smirk crossing her face the more she looks at Santana. It's clear she's thinking about something, and Santana feels slightly uneasy at this woman just staring at her but then there's a glint in her eyes and she drops her hands, a wide smile growing across her face as she leans over the counter and retrieves something. A small set of keys, Santana finds out as Emma mutters _come with me _and leads her and Quinn into the back of the shop, bypassing the set of jewelry on show.

It's a little weird, because surely the things you would like to sell, or want to sell for that matter, would be out the front of the jewellery shop, yet something as special is this is concealed in the back? Where no-one would know to ask for it because out on show there's a few toe rings and earrings, but nothing as big as an engagement ring? Slightly odd, but Santana's not one to fuss.

Quinn leans over to her as they pass a small room that's way too tidy to be used. "This woman... She's not like, crazy or anything is she?"

"No," she respond, eyes darting towards the woman leading them through a thin hallway. "Well, not that I know of anyway."

Quinn doesn't reply, instead just gulps comically loud and falls into step beside her.

A few minutes later, they come to this dark room in the back. And it's like one of the rooms out of a film because when Emma switches on the light it flickers several times before creating this continuous buzzing sound as it illuminates the room. Clear from the doorway, there's a sheet covering something box shaped and Santana can only assume there's a safe under there because people don't usually hide cardboard boxes.

Emma holds her hand back, gesturing for Santana and Quinn to stop and they do so, slightly puzzled as to what they're supposed to do right now. There's a click, and then another few metal clinks, but then the sound of a doorway comes through and Santana holds her breath as Emma picks out a little box, obviously knowing what she wanted from inside the safe, and turns around to hold it out to Santana.

"Here," the redhead says, in a loud whisper. "Take a look at this one."

Santana, a little wary of the whole situation, pinches the box and brings it to her chest, hands shaking with nerves and heat creeping along her collar. It feels heavier than she thought it would, but that could just be because of how damn anxious she's feeling to see inside the box. This is how she feels when she opens presents in front of people. She hates that she might not like the gift, and feels pressured into saying she likes it even if she doesn't, and that's definitely what's going on right now.

Except there's something a little more to it. It's not so much that she won't like it; it's more that she's scared that if she doesn't like it, she won't know where to go from there. This shop, this tiny damn stop, tucked away down an alley, is her last shining beacon of hope and she's just wishing so damn hard that when she opens this box she'll instantly fall in love with this ring.

And as she pinches the lid, peels it back and sees the silver band sitting inside the box, she does.

* * *

><p>Walking back to the park, knowing there's a six thousand dollar ring in the bottom of her jacket pocket, could quite possibly be one of the most terrifying things Santana's ever done. Every tree is taller than it was when she was here merely hours before, and for some reason the brushes and foliage make her feel like a ninja or a thug is about to jump out on her and steal away the red velvet covered box beneath her sweating palm. It's ridiculous, and she knows it, but she's still making sure at least one finger is edging around the lid of the small box the entire way back.<p>

After minutes of panicking and pumping her leg muscles a little faster just so she can get back to Central Park, Santana arrives, and the Pierce family in the small clearing by the tall oak tree comes into view. A sigh of relief escapes her lips, and she swallows the thickness coating the inside of her throat as she heads up to them and smiles at Brittany when blue eyes slide to meet her brown ones.

Brittany wastes no time in bouncing on over to her and throwing her arms around Santana's neck, their mouths coming together instantly and a moan escaping both of them as the warmth of reunion floods through their bodies and warms their hearts. Santana smiles into the kiss and circles her arms around a slim waist to pull them closer together; she only becomes remotely aware that family is around when someone makes a retching sound and she pulls back to find Emily sticking to fingers down her throat mockingly.

"You guys are kinda gross," the youngest blonde says. "Do you ever like, take a break from making out?"

Santana cocks a brow and releases Brittany, but keeps her close with an arm around her waist.

"Just because you don't have a boyfriend doesn't mean you can bum out every other couple."

It's a low blow, but Emily's face falls into an expression of absolutely zero amusement and Santana grins triumphantly. That'll stop the insults and commentary from the youngest Pierce for a while. And after Emily turns away and Santana thinks she sees a middle finger aimed her way, Brittany cups her cheek and twists her neck again to press their lips together in a soft, slow kiss that makes Santana's head dizzy a little.

"Hey," she breathes out, the words tracing along the curve of Brittany's bottom lip.

Brittany kisses her again and reaches up to twine her fingers through the fine dark hair at the base of Santana's neck. "Hi," she replies, sweetly. "You were gone a while."

Santana nods and slides her hands down to her girlfriend's hips, squeezing gently. "Yeah, sorry about that. Quinn's kind of picky."

"I can see that."

"Yeah," she says through a chuckle, bumping their noses together. "We found one in the end, though."

Brittany smiles, bright white teeth shining brilliantly. "You did? Is it nice?"

Santana thinks about the ring. She thinks about the three diamonds encrusted in the white gold band and how when Emma peeled the box open and showed it to her, it was like Brittany was in front of her right then and there, nodding and grinning and crying tears of joy as she accepted her proposal. It was one of the scariest moments of Santana's life because she could see the yes. She could see the house in the suburbs, the kids running around in the front yard, the Volvo dealership down the road and the white picket fence before her very eyes. Yeah, it was scary, but it was scary in the good way, like when you find out your life's about to really start and you're heading for bigger and better things. It's change, but it's knowing that it will be a good change.

And now that Brittany's within kissing distance right in front of her face, eyes wide and so, _so_ blue, asking her if it was nice - maybe not the ring specifically, but only Santana knows what they're really talking about - she can definitely say it was more than nice.

"It was wonderful."

Brittany's smile stretches wider a second before she leans forward and kisses Santana. Santana, for her part, closes her eyes and inhales as she lowers her hands down to the dimples in Brittany's spine and applies pressure to mold their bodies as close together as they'll go without melting into one another. Although, she definitely wouldn't mind that.

* * *

><p>It's about ten seconds of kissing before they decide they have plenty of time for that later, and so they head back over to the rug spread over the grass. Santana looks towards Neil and instantly feels his eyes pierce into hers, almost like he can sense where she went and what she bought, and she gulps heavily. It's a silly thought, if she thinks about it, because there's no way in hell Neil could know, and yet she's basically standing here, quaking in her boots at the mere thought that he might suspect something.<p>

And that's when it strikes her that she wanted this to be perfect in every way possible, which means she has to do it the old fashioned way.

Luckily, it's at that moment that Anna decides to stand and asks Brittany to help her clear up their rubbish. Santana almost volunteers – after all these years it's still an instant reaction – but then remembers that she can't because there's a more pressing issue which she needs to attend to. So slumping her shoulders and clamping her mouth shut, she waits. She waits until Brittany comes over and presses a kiss to her forehead before skipping off with her mom. She waits until they're out of earshot and waits through the way her hands are shaking before addressing Neil with a strong voice she didn't know she could muster.

Clearing her throat, she lifts her head high. "Um, Neil?"

Neil looks her way and smiles, all white teeth, golden hair and sapphire eyes, and she has to admit, for a middle aged guy he's rather handsome. He's clearly not her type, but a man that's aging well none-the-less, despite all his hard battles against his disease. "Yes?"

Santana wrings her hands nervously in front of her and sits up, back straight like she's being called to attention by a commanding officer. "I-I need to ask you... something. If that's okay."

"It's always okay," Neil agrees, softly and reassures her with a blink and a soft smile. "What is it?"

"Well... Um..." she stutters and feels the light coating of sweat form across her brow. She's seen this part in old movies, where the guy asks the girl's father for her hand in marriage, and it's all upon the father to decide whether their happiness is suitable and should be allowed to continue and _fuck, _it's nerve racking to say the least. And damn, she feels like this and she's basically already a part of the Pierce family; she just feels for all the people who've done this and haven't been so close to their soon-to-be-fiance's family.

She glances up through her lashes and swallows, licking her lips and breathing out in a forced slow rhythm to ensure her body doesn't go into panic mode. "I love Brittany," she starts, thinking that's the best place to. "I love her more than life itself."

Neil nods at her in a _duh _kind of way and she's glad, it lightens the situation.

"And I haven't done a lot of things right in the past," she admits, unwanted memories flushing through her. "But now that I'm lucky enough to call your daughter mine," she breathes in deeply, knowing it's about to come out and squeezes her eyes shut as she continues with, "I want to make every second count, and make sure I do right by her for the rest of our lives."

Reaching into her pocket, she gingerly fingers the edge of the box before curling them around it and pulling it out softly. Neil's reaction is instant; his eyes widen and jaw goes a little slack, and Santana does a quick take of the people around her to make sure Brittany's not there before continuing.

"So if you'll give me your blessing, I'm going to ask Brittany to marry me."

For a split second Neil hesitates. His eyes shift down to the box and then back up to Santana's eyes, and for that split second, she panics. Fear pulses through her and her throat tightens as she stares at the man she hopes one day she'll be able to call her father-in-law. But then the mood completely changes and Neil's mood flips to ecstatically happy. His eyes glisten over and a grin stretches across his face, skin wrinkling at the corner of his eyes and Santana can't even begin to explain how amazing that rush of relief that washes over her, is.

"Yes," Neil says, wiping at his eyes. "Of course you can. You can ask Brittany to marry you."

If it weren't slightly suspicious to Brittany – because Santana knows there's always _one _eye on her if not both – she would throw herself into Neil's arms. But knowing she has to keep a relatively normal reaction, despite everything inside of her wanting to do the complete opposite, she smiles and reaches forward, grabbing at his hand and squeezing gratefully.

"You have no idea how happy you've just made me, Neil," she whispers and feels heat prick at her eyelids. _Fuck. _She's gonna start crying soon. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Neil smiles at her, rubbing away the tears furiously and Santana glances over to Brittany, knowing her life is going to start tonight.

* * *

><p>Brittany comes over to her around five minutes later, taking a seat in her lap and looping her arms round Santana's neck. Neil flashes a grin and stands, muttering something about '<em>leaving you two lovebirds alone<em>' before he joins Emily and Anna in a game of Frisbee.

"What was that about?"

"What was what about?"

"You and my dad," the blonde continues, nudging her head against Santana's then towards Neil. "You looked really intense."

Santana slips her arms around her girlfriend's waist, burying her nose into her shoulder. The lies comes quickly and she sends a mental prayer to the gods above for that one. "Nothing, baby. We were just talking about your dad's life."

Brittany seems hesitant. She reaches down and lightly pinches Santana's chin between her thumb and forefinger, raising it until their eyes lock and blue ones are searching brown for a lie. But Santana's got pretty good at concealing something huge to Brittany. Hell, she did it for so long when she was trying to pretend like she wasn't in love with the girl, and then she was pretty convincing so this should be on the same level. Which, really, isn't a good thing, but it's not like she's ever going to use it for anything but hiding the engagement, so for now she'll just go with the flow and use it to her advantage.

"Are you lying to me?" Brittany asks suspiciously, and Santana knows how she reacts next will either make or break the surprise proposal.

"No, Britt. I'm not. We were just talking about the treatment and your dad got a little emotional," she keeps a soft smile on her face and arches a brow when blue eyes continue to examine her. "So I tried to comfort him."

"Hmmm... I'm not sure I believe you."

A small spark of panic surges through Santana but she keeps her cool. This is something she wants, proposing to Brittany, and she'll do absolutely _anything _to keep it a secret until the opportune moment comes, even if that means lying to Brittany and focusing _entirely _on the lying, she'll do it. The end result will override the current circumstances so she just has to focus on that.

It doesn't stop the slight guilt that pangs in her chest, though.

"Baby, you can go and ask your dad if you want to," she murmurs and slips one hand up to cup a pale cheek. "If you honestly don't believe me go and talk to him. He'll tell you the exact same thing," her eyes dart between blue ones and she takes a deep breath. "I'm not lying to you."

It's quite possibly one of the hardest things she's ever had to lie about, with Brittany being in such close proximity of her. But she knows it's worked as soon as Brittany's face twitches and a smile breaks across her face, ridding the suspicious glare she was sending out before.

"Okay," her girlfriend replies, cheerfully, pressing their lips together quickly. But when she pulls back, she narrows her eyes and grins. "But I've got my eye on you, Lopez."

Santana smiles back and licks her lips, leaning in. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she murmurs a second before kissing her soon-to-be-fiancée.

* * *

><p>There are <em>so <em>many ways to propose.

Like, Santana's been thinking about it and now she's kind of confused as to what to do. She knows Brittany, and knows that whatever way she proposed she'd find it romantic, but that kind of puts more pressure on her, doesn't it?

They could go to a Knicks game and wait for halftime before taking Brittany's hand, kneeling on the most probably beer covered floor and asking for her hand in marriage whilst the entire thing is projected to everyone in the stadium via the big screen, but that's just _so _cliché. And who knows, if Brittany's anything like her mom, she might think that's cheap and tacky.

Then there's also sky-writing... But Brittany can get embarrassed really easily and the last thing Santana would want is for people to be snapping photos of the woman who not only got proposed to through sky-writing, but who also managed to turn into a human tomato in the process. Plus, she's not so sure it would come out right and how awful would it be if it spelt out something unreadable and Brittany had to actually ask Santana what it really said. That would just ruin the whole point of it.

There's always the ring in the bottle of the champagne glass as a restaurant, but that still carries the same cliché and Santana wants something different. Brittany _deserves _something unique.

_Damn. _Santana really needs to think about it.

Chewing on her lip and pondering to herself which one of the thousands of possibilities is the right one to propose to her girlfriend with, Santana feels her phone buzz in her pocket and is momentarily broken from the trance. She reaches into her jeans and fishes it out, quickly punching in the passcode and opening the text she can see is from Rachel. What does she want?

_Quinn just told me your plan and can I just I love it! Cannot wait to attend the ceremony! Good luck, Santana! I'm rooting for you! - Rachel_

Santana's just about to blow a fuse because _fuck, _can't Quinn keep her mouth shut? When her phone buzzes again and there's another text message. Except it's from Quinn.

_Shit, S, I'm sorry. Rachel got it out of me. She can be strangely persuasive at times _– Santana just about vomits at the thought of _how _Rachel got it out of Quinn – _but just a quick heads up, Rach and I were thinking and we remembered that last year Mike proposed on Brittany's birthday. Just in case you didn't remember, thought you should know - Q_

And Santana's face drops. She can feel the blood drain from it and her stomach sinks. The one thing she was thinking was how special and individual proposing to Brittany would be, only to be told that Mike Chang did the exact same thing a year ago, today. Now it's not so freaking special, and Santana's confidence – for some odd reason – has just been shot to bits. Fucking _brilliant._

Across the picnic rug, Neil gives her a look. She doesn't know what it means, but she's sure it runs along the lines of _you okay? _She just ducks her head and shakes it, the little box in her pocket gaining like a million tonnes.

She won't be proposing today, then.

* * *

><p>The sun soon begins to set and Anna tells Brittany that they should be setting off home now, since apparently Emily has school tomorrow. Emily, of course, growls and throws a miniature tantrum, in which Santana pokes her in the arm and tells her how childish that is. Emily just scowls at her until they leave.<p>

She hugs Neil and Anna, and feels a lump grow in her throat when Emily _finally _rolls her eyes and hugs her, whispering _'you're still an ass, but you're marrying my sister, so I guess you can't be that bad' _and then walks away with the rest of the Pierces, grinning and clearly expecting a phone call later to hear the confirmed big news.

Brittany almost cries when they say goodbye, so Santana gravitates towards her and wraps her arms around her girlfriend from behind to comfort her and keep those tears in, and it works because fingers slide through her own and they stare at the retreating form of the three other Pierces as they disappear into the distance.

From there, Santana and Brittany head home, threading their fingers together and leisurely strolling the long way round because New York City is at its best at this time of day. When they get back to Brittany's apartment – which is technically Santana's too 'cause she hasn't been home in like, months – they kick off their shoes and collapse on the sofa, Santana with her head on Brittany's lap and Brittany's fingers raking through her hair.

They haven't really talked since Brittany asked about her and Neil's conversation, and Santana's hoping that her girlfriend isn't too suspicious about it because she doesn't think she has it in her to lie anymore than she already has. Luckily though, blue eyes roam around her face and gaze down at her, but there's no hint of concern or worry shading behind them so Santana reckons she's in the clear.

"I love you," Brittany suddenly announces, breaking the silence.

Santana grins and scrunches up her nose. "I love you too, baby," she replies, closing her eyes when her girlfriend leans down at an awkward angle and kisses her.

Brittany pulls back but Santana realizes that she hasn't kissed her enough today and swivels, getting to her knees and bringing their mouths back together as she pushes the blonde back down onto the sofa. Brittany giggles and Santana does too, but soon enough their hips are rocking together and all the blood is rushing down to Santana's groin, making her press up against the zip of her jeans. Her hand drifts down to Brittany's thigh, and she shuffles, straddling one of her girlfriend's thighs whilst she hooks the other one up and urges it around her lower back, pulling them even closer together

Santana breaks the kiss to breathe but Brittany tips her head up and catches her bottom lip, sucking it lightly and coaxing her into another kiss, and who would Santana be to deny the birthday girl such a thing? She kisses her back, groaning loudly and not feeling the slightest bit embarrassed by the volume of it, and runs her hands underneath her girlfriend's shirt, coasting across tight abs and up along the smooth skin covering Brittany's ribs.

This time it's Brittany that moans and Santana begins to kiss down the long slope of a pale neck, sucking and licking at the points she knows make her girlfriend's toes curl. Nails scratch along her back, and she's learned that that's the silent way of telling her to get on with the orgasms, so she grins and sucks Brittany's pulse point one more time before shifting and sitting back on her knees. Dark blue eyes gaze up at her and she's momentarily distracted by how _hot _Brittany looks, hair all tousled and lips dark pink and swallows.

"You're so hot," she breathes and pushes Brittany's top up, following the trail with her lips and feeling the muscles beneath her lips twitch with anticipation. Her fingers hook into Brittany's leggings and she glances up against her body, locking eyes with her girlfriend as she urges the clothing down, bringing Brittany's panties with it. She has to shift and wiggle a little to remove them completely, but then she leans back down and kisses her way up Brittany's chest, her fingers drifting up the inside of strong thighs as Brittany's body squirms and small whispers escape her lips.

She mutes them with kisses, dipping her tongue into Brittany's mouth and curling around sharp teeth as her fingers dance up the crease in her girlfriend's thigh. Brittany's chest is heaving and her eyes are hooded and dark, and Santana knows it's her birthday, and so the teasing really shouldn't be happening, but she just can't help it. Her fingers shift, and instead of diving straight into it she allows her thumb to drift down until she's circling around Brittany's clit. It makes her girlfriend jolt and Santana presses her hips down on instinct, kissing over Brittany's jaw and neck.

"San..." Brittany moans. "Please."

Pressing their lips together, Santana smiles into the kiss and twists her hand, moaning at the feel of how ready her girlfriend is for her. She slides her fingers through hot flesh, rolling the pad of her thumb across the hardened nub at the top before dipping down and sliding in with two fingers, curling them and listening to the way Brittany's breath hitches in her throat as her head snaps back against the sofa cushion. Wanting to keep her girlfriend in this state, Santana works her fingers harder and faster and licks over Brittany's pulse point, knowing exactly how Brittany likes it and what will make her climax faster.

She twists and curls, and allows her thumb to wander north until Brittany's shaking beneath her, tightening around her fingers and moaning breathlessly into her ear. It's so hot, and Santana can feel the heavy pressure on the inside of her jeans but there's a part in the back of her mind that just keeps chanting _it's her birthday _and so after Brittany's orgasm has washed over her, Santana withdraws her fingers and begins kissing down her body, ready to follow with a second orgasm.

Except apparently Brittany doesn't have the same idea and tugs Santana up, bringing their mouths together and sliding her hand down the front of her jeans. Santana's hips jerk immediately, needing more contact and as she begins to rock into her girlfriend's talented wrist's movements, she feels the other hand move down and unzip her jeans. What the–

"I want you inside me," Brittany murmurs into her ear, voice raspy and full of arousal. "I want to feel you inside me."

And Santana's sure she just came.

Eyes widening, Santana nods furiously and kisses Brittany hard, hands working at her jeans and boxers until she's kicking her jeans off down the other end of the couch and she's just as pantsless as her girlfriend is. Heat blossoms over her skin and she moans when the tip of her cock brushes against the inside of a pale thigh. She's so ready for this it's unreal; it's like they haven't had sex in years, not hours.

Brittany smirks at her when she pulls back from the kiss, and she looks down between their bodies, watching slender fingers reach down and rub at her, before positioning the tip at a glistening core. And Santana has to wonder, will it always be like this? Will she ever get tired of wanting Brittany in every way possible? No. She doesn't think so. Tipping her head up, she catches Brittany's bottom lip and sucks gently as her hips press forward, the underside of her cock bumping against her girlfriend's already sensitive clit. Brittany whimpers against her mouth and Santana knows they're good to go.

She's a second away from pushing into her girlfriend, and feeling wet heat encompass her length when the _fucking _door bell rings, and it suddenly hits her that _shit, _Quinn and Rachel were supposed to come over for Chinese.

Groaning loudly, she drops her forehead to Brittany's shoulder and closes her eyes. Great _fucking_ timing.

"Quinn and Rachel are here." It's muffled against the fabric of Brittany's shirt.

"It's okay, babe," Brittany whispers and kisses her temple, but her voice is still thick with arousal. She might want to sort that out before greeting their guests. "Get dressed and I'll open the door."

Santana mumbles something about a cold shower under her breath but does as she's told, thoroughly pissed off with the two women waiting outside their front door. She sits up and reaches over the side of the sofa, picking up her jeans and boxers and sliding them up her legs, whilst Brittany's already dressed and readjusting her hair in the mirror by the door.

At the sound of Santana's jeans buckling up, Brittany lifts both eyebrows in a silent _'ready?' _and Santana nods. Well, she's not ready, she's got a raging hard on and could _really _do with a good ten minutes to have sex with her amazingly hot girlfriend, but she's as ready as she'll ever be in terms of tonight.

The door swings open and Santana immediately hears the annoying sound of Rachel fucking Berry singing Happy Birthday, and Quinn's small voice joining in in the background and can't help but laugh; there's nothing better than the sound of Rachel Berry singing to replace a cold shower.

Pushing up from the sofa, and reaching down the front of her jeans to adjust herself – the last thing she needs is Quinn to eye up her crotch – she heads into the kitchen and grabs the six pack of beer from the fridge. Peering over her shoulder she quickly takes the ring out her jeans, suddenly remembering it's there and having a mild panic attack because _shit, _if Quinn and Rachel hadn't interrupted Brittany could have found the damn thing, and makes a quick diversion, darting into her bedroom and opening the drawer to her side table, slipping the box inside.

The weight lifting off her shoulders a little, Santana shifts the six pack of beer underneath her arm and moves towards the kitchen again. She grabs a bottle, pops one open and begins to glug it down, walking back to the living room in time to see Rachel take _her _seat in the armchair. She swears to the heavens that one day she's going to take the dwarf out.

But she tells herself to keep it cool and to not tear Berry a new one just because it's Brittany's birthday. A trip to A&E would definitely make it memorable, but for all the wrong reasons.

"Hey, S," Quinn greets and walks over to her, pecking her on the cheek quickly and stealing a beer at the same time.

"Hey," she replies then looks towards Rachel and nods. "Berry."

"Hello, Santana," the short brunette smiles back and taps the arm of the chair, ushering Quinn towards it.

Being the whipped little bitch she is, not that can Santana can really say anything, Quinn heads over and does as she's told, wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulders and kissing her on the forehead. Santana just laughs and shakes her head, before joining Brittany on the sofa and leaning back against the arm, pulling her girlfriend down until they're cuddling.

Rachel examines them for a few moments, the way they snuggle and the way Santana presses her lips into blonde hair, inhaling and whispering indecipherable things. Santana doesn't even notice though, too entrapped in the way Brittany's hand is resting just that little bit too high on her thigh. Clearly she hasn't quite got over her lady boner, yet.

"You two look mighty happy," Rachel says, reaching for the bottle of wine she must have brought with her. "Any reason as to why?"

Santana grins and looks down at Brittany at the same time Brittany tilts her head back. "Could say that," she grins, kissing the underside of Santana's jaw before turning back. "But I would've been happier if you'd left us another five or ten minutes."

Quinn gets it immediately, but Rachel tilts her head to the side, pulling her brows together. Two and a half minutes later, and two and a half minutes of Santana choking on her beer because the fact that Berry doesn't get it is just _too funny, _Rachel's mouth pops open and her eyes nearly bug out her head.

Brittany just chuckles and leans up to kiss Santana on the cheek before standing and grabbing the phone on the way to the kitchen. "I'll just order dinner then," she murmurs and Rachel jumps up immediately, following her in a blushing haste.

"You two are such horn dogs," Quinn comments when the other two are out of earshot.

Santana shrugs in response, a smile playing at her lips.

"Guessing the sex was in preparation, then?"

Santana's face drops and she swallows, eyebrows twitching and jaw clenching. "No. It wasn't, and we didn't even get to having sex 'cause you and your hobbit waddled in."

Quinn's eyes flash to the kitchen before coming back to Santana. She ignores the insult, leans in and rests her forearms on the tops of her thighs, beer bottle dangling out of her left hand. "You're not gonna do it tonight?"

"No," Santana hisses. "You fucking ruined it by telling me about George Takei."

Quinn squints. "George Takei is Japanese, you racist. Mike's Chinese. And _you_ should've remembered."

"It's not exactly a moment I want to remember, Fabray," she spits back, eyes narrowing into a glare.

Quinn raises a brow. "Don't get all shitty with my just 'cause you've got crappy memory. And who cares if Mike proposed on her birthday, anyway? That was back then and this is now–"

"Well done, Sherlock."

"–Shut up. Anyway, I'm just saying," Quinn's voice is soft and Santana kind of hates that. "Brittany won't care if you propose on the same day Mike did. All she'll care about is that you're freaking _proposing, _Lopez," she leans back in her chair. "So grow a pair and just do it." She takes a swig of her beer and then drops her arm back down. "You know she's just gonna get more suspicious and there's no way in hell you dragged me across the entire city for nothing."

"I don't know. I mean, I will do it," Santana says, lowly, suddenly very conscious Brittany can hear. "I just... I want it to be perfect and now knowing that Mike did it on the same day just makes it less... special."

"Less special?" Quinn parrots but her face is disbelieving. "Santana, I'm gonna be honest with you here and you know I don't do the sentimental bullshit, but seriously? You and Brittany are fucking _soulmates, _and I honestly can say that I don't know two people who are meant to be together more than you two are." Santana glances up and feels warmth around her heart. Her eyes flicker to the kitchen and they catch Brittany's staring straight back at her. "That alone makes it special and it doesn't matter whether you dive out a plane and land on one knee at Brittany's feet, or whether you crap out the damn ring, it _will _be special."

Santana worries her bottom lip between her teeth and ponders upon her friends words. But she doesn't get to do that for long before Rachel comes twirling into the room asking if they can order Vegetable Chow Mein instead of Chicken Chow Mein because of her 'vegan status' and Santana has to grip onto the arms of the chair to make sure she doesn't launch herself towards Verne Troyer and throttle her.

* * *

><p>It's a few hours later and there's cartons of Chinese food and bottles of wine and beer spread all over the place.<p>

Santana and Brittany are now on the armchair, after Santana may or may not have gone off on one about how Rachel always steal her freaking chair, and Brittany's sitting sideways with her legs thrown over the arm of the chair and face tucked into Santana's neck, whilst tanned arms are stroking up and down long legs.

Quinn and Rachel are on the sofa, and unusually, Quinn's got her head in Rachel's lap with Rachel's fingers running through short golden locks. It's only unusual because Quinn's normally the one sitting up and Rachel's normally the one with her head in her lap, but whatever, it's too late to even care.

_The Break-Up_ been playing on TV for a while now, but Santana hasn't been paying much attention to it because her girlfriend has been running her nose up the muscle in her neck, and even if Brittany's asleep, it's incredibly distracting. And to be honest, she's more than content to just sit in silence, listening to Brittany's light snores and the incoherent string of words that only come out her mouth when she's asleep.

Anyway, the film gets to the bit where Jennifer Aniston wanders around the apartment naked to get Vince Vaughn's attention when Santana realizes Quinn's asleep. She peers at her friend and thinks about how work and recording for her album must be getting to her because she's never known Quinn to fall asleep at someone else's house.

"She must be tired."

Santana scowls, fearing Rachel might have woken Brittany up. "Keep it down, Berry."

"Sorry," Rachel smiles apologetically.

Santana breathes in and turns her head pressing a kiss to her girlfriend's forehead a second before she twists and nuzzles further into her. Good, Brittany's still asleep. "What's up with Q, anyway?" She asks, softly. "Why is she so tired?"

"She's just been panicking about the album release," Rachel sighs and stares down at her girlfriend. "She hasn't got much sleep recently and it's worrying me."

Santana wants to roll her eyes, but she doesn't. _Way to make it about yourself, Berry. _"She doesn't need to worry. The album will be awesome and everyone's going to love it. _Always Attract _shot up to number one in a matter of days."

"I know," Rachel agrees. "I have faith in her. She just needs to have it in herself."

"Well there's no need for her to panic or stress about it. Everything will work out fine.

Brown eyes flicker towards her. "I could say the same about you."

Santana tenses at the other girl's words. She knows she shouldn't really panic because there's no doubt in her mind that Brittany's going to say yes. It's just that they've been through so much together that it this proposal _needs _to be perfect. It needs to be special and whilst yes, Quinn did make a good point earlier, it still doesn't and won't change the fact that Mike proposed today a year ago, and if Santana does too then it's sort of like she's copying. It's unoriginal and won't be as special.

Her mouth drops open to respond when Brittany shuffles and murmurs something into her neck. Brown eyes grow wide and Santana glances at Rachel who's frozen with the sudden fear that Brittany might have heard what she said. But Santana knows that when Brittany's asleep, it takes either five minutes of back rubs or seventeen kisses to wake her up, so she'll be good for now.

"Hold on, let me just put Britt to bed," she says and begins to maneuver herself.

She shuffles on her butt to the edge of the armchair and cradles her girlfriend's body in her arms. Brittany's never weighed much, and so Santana doesn't struggle when she stands and carries her through the living room, across the kitchen and down the hallway to their bedroom where she places her down on the right hand side of the bed. She strips her down to her underwear before urging a wriggling Brittany beneath the covers, and presses a firm kiss to her forehead at the same time the blonde rolls and reaches for the empty side of the bed. Giggling, Santana grabs her pillow and gently pushes it into her girlfriend's arms, who instantly curls up into it and buries her nose into it. At least the pillow smells of her. That'll do for an hour or two.

Santana heads back to the living room, rubbing the back of her neck and rolling it to the side. That armchair has never been especially comfy, and she knows sitting in it for more than an hour always seems to do something weird to her neck, but Brittany was asleep and she didn't want to wake her.

_Jesus._ She called _Quinn _a whipped little bitch.

Rachel's sitting in the same position as before, but Quinn's turned her head and buried it into the brunette's stomach, nuzzling lightly. There's a slight blush covering Rachel's cheeks and Santana has to bite back the comment rolling off her tongue because, well, she has to admit, Rachel isn't _that _bad.

So that's probably why she says this, "We've got a spare bedroom if you wanna stay over."

Rachel couldn't be more surprised if you'd slapped her with a wet fish and told her Barbra Streisand was dead. "Really?"

Santana smiles and rolls her eyes. She can't help it. "I guess you're not _that _bad, Berry."

"That would be greatly appreciated, Santana." Rachel grins so widely Santana fears it might break her face. "I think I'll put this one to bed, too."

Nodding, she takes a seat on the sofa and props her feet up on the coffee table. Rachel leans down and murmurs something unintelligible into Quinn's ear, who shifts and rolls, almost straight off the couch before groggily climbing to her feet. An arm is thrown around her shoulder and Santana watches as the two head through the kitchen, and disappear out of sight. But then she remembers something and heads after them, finding them already in the room when she gets there.

She holds onto the door frame and half-leans into the room, scared she might see something she doesn't want to. "There's some spare pajamas in the dresser, if you want them. They probably won't fit but you're welcome to them."

Rachel peers over her shoulder from where she's lying Quinn down and smiles gratefully. "Thank you. Night, Santana."

Santana nods and backs away, taking one last look into her bedroom to see Brittany spread out across the mattress before closing the door and heading back into the living room.

_There's always tomorrow._

* * *

><p>A few minutes later when she's cracking open her fourth beer, footsteps pad down the hallway and Santana prepares herself for a sleepy Brittany.<p>

Except when she looks up, it's not her. It's Rachel.

"Thought you were going to bed?"

Rachel sheepishly takes a seat on the coffee table, wearing one of Brittany's old college t-shirts. "I was going to but then I thought of something I'd like to ask you."

Taking a long pull of her beer, Santana says, "Okay. Go ahead."

"Why–" Rachel pauses and looks over her shoulder to check if anyone's there. There isn't. "Why didn't you do _it _today?"

Santana shakes her head and ducks her chin to her chest, eyes falling to the label she's peeling off her beer bottle. It should feel weird to have someone like Berry ask her this, and it should make her want to chortle and snort and walk away, leaving the other girl with no answer, but it doesn't. Instead, the truth just comes out.

"I just want it to be perfect and I don't know how to make it like that."

Rachel's quiet for a second, and Santana swallows nervously, still focused on picking the glue off her bottle. Then a hand comes over and presses against her forearm, and she slowly lifts her vision to stare at Rachel who's got her lips pinched up at the side, almost into a small smile.

"You are aware you're all that Brittany's ever going to want, don't you?" She asks, and Santana's eyebrow lifts. "You're all she wants for now and forever?"

Santana waits a few seconds before that same idiotic smile, that always comes whenever she talks about forever with Brittany, creeps upon her lips and she nods. "Yeah. And she's all I'm ever going to want, too."

"Then that's perfection," Rachel pulls back and smiles.

Santana stares at the girl but doesn't say anything.

"You two are soulmates, Santana," Rachel tells her. "You two are meant to be and you two don't need anything else but each other to be perfect. I know you're hesitant about–" she looks both sides of her and ducks her head and whispers "–_proposing_, but I can assure you, you don't need to be."

Santana swallows. "Berry, I'm gonna be honest here with you–" Rachel's eyes beam up like a child at Christmas "–I'm _terrified."_

Rachel's eyebrows pull together, confused. "Of what?"

Santana growls angrily to herself and throws her body back onto the couch, bringing one hand up to press against her forehead. "About everything. About the past, the present, the future. I'm scared that one day Brittany's going to realize that she's so much better than me and deserves so much more. I'm scared she's going to find someone who can give her everything I can't," she sighs and sits forward again, resting both elbows on her knees and burying her face into her hands. "I'm scared and I need her to know exactly how I feel about her. I need her to know I'm going to cherish her forever and never let her go to sleep mad. I need her to know this and I need to tell her through my actions."

She finally looks up.

"I need this proposal to be perfection with a hot air balloon and two thousand dollar dresses. I need this proposal to be everything she could ever want with a hundred dollar bottle of champagne because that's what she _deserves. _It's the _least _she deserves and Berry, I just want to give it to her because it's what she _needs._"

Rachel stays silent for a long moment, just sitting there with her hands tucked between her knees and her eyes narrowing the longer they stay on Santana. And it only manages to frustrate Santana more. It pisses her off because the silence means she's right and she needs this whole elaborate proposal to make Brittany happy. It just proves everything she says and–

"No, Santana. You're wrong."

Santana's mouth pops open and anger flares across her skin. How dare Rachel say that. Who's the one that's known Brittany the longest? Is it Rachel? Erm, nope. Maybe she just needs to shut the hell up.

"All she needs?" Rachel leans forward and places her hand over Santana's. "Is _you._"

Without saying anything more, the shorter girl stands, smile at her and then heads back towards the bedroom, leaving Santana to slump back against the sofa and mull over her words.

* * *

><p>2am approaches and Santana rubs her hands over her face, the tired ache forming at the back of her eyes. Switching off the television, she clears away the majority of the bottles and Chinese cartons and then heads to bed, wanting nothing more than to curl up with her girlfriend and just sleep.<p>

She bypasses the bedroom and heads to the bathroom, slipping out of her jeans and t-shirt and deciding she just can't be bothered to change into sleep shorts and a top, so boxers and a bra it'll be. She brushes her teeth, takes off her make-up and finally makes her way towards the bedroom, where she slowly pushes open the door to find her girlfriend, spread across the bed like a star fish. It's always something that makes her chuckle because Brittany only ever steals the sheet, never the entire bed, when Santana's in it.

Climbing into bed, her mind begins to replay all the things people have said to her today. All the things Neil, Anna, Emily, Quinn and Rachel have said about proposing; how she and Brittany are soul mates and how when she proposes, it doesn't need to be all candles and champagne because all they need is each other. That's the way it's always been.

Pressing a soft kiss to a pale shoulder, Santana throws her arm over Brittany's waist and moves into the position of the big spoon. But as always, her girlfriend begins to stir and turns over, tucking into her neck and breathing her in.

"Sorry, baby," Santana murmurs, stroking up and down her bare back. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"S'fine. W'time s'it?"

Santana figures it's been a good half hour since she checked the time last and goes with that. "Around 2:30. Go back to sleep, Britt. I'll still be here in the morning." She says that, but she still strokes a hand over the soft skin of Brittany's cheek to keep her away.

Brittany pulls back, knowing there's more than meets the eye. "What's wrong?" She asks, still sleepy but more alert than before.

Brushing back a lock of hair, Santana breathes out a smile. "Nothing, baby. I just wanted to see your eyes."

Blue eyes soften and Brittany sighs lovingly. "I love you." For some odd reason, the words make Santana blush and duck her head, and Brittany, despite being still half-asleep can't help but notice. "Thought you said nothing was wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," Santana feels heat prickle at her skin and swallows, shifting down the bed until their noses are squashes together. "I just was thinking."

"About what?"

Santana takes in a deep breath and brings her hand up to her girlfriend's jaw, cupping it gently whilst her thumb rubs over a pink bottom lip. "Just when we were younger and stuff... Like, all those times we did such like couple-y things, you know?" Brittany smiles but there's a hesitation in her eyes. "Like, those times where I just should've known. Where I _did _know," she corrects herself.

"Where you knew what, San?" Brittany asks, pulling her brows together and mirroring Santana's hand placement.

Santana gazes at her girlfriend and the words flow out before she can even tell her mouth to speak, "Where I knew you were the one."

* * *

><p><em>They were nine years old, and Santana had just pushed that mean ogre, Finn Hudson over. He called Brittany stupid and now they were sitting outside the principal's office.<em>

_And Santana was scared. She'd heard so many scary stories from other children about what happened inside the room with the big purple door. Brittany had always said the door was purple so obviously whatever behind it wasn't going to be scary because purple wasn't a mean color. If it was black then yes, Santana could worry, but she shouldn't be frightened then._

_Still, it didn't mean that she wasn't though._

_Her small legs were kicking out nervously, her heels thudding against the legs of the chair she was sitting on, and Brittany was staring at her from the side. The only reason Brittany was here was because she'd told the teacher that it was her idea, and even though it wasn't, it meant that she and Santana would face whatever was behind the purple door, together._

_And even though she was sitting there, knees bouncing nervously and teeth tugged between her bottom lip, she couldn't fight the knowledge that Brittany being here did help. It helped a lot, and even when the door opened and the big scary principal stepped out, crossing his arms over his huge chest and glaring down at them, Brittany was still there, sitting by her side and reaching out for her hand, tangling their small fingers together._

"_Don't worry, San," Brittany whispered, leaning over. "I'm here."_

_And from that moment on, Santana knew that where she was, Brittany would be too. And neither of them would have to worry about anything else as long as they were near each other._

* * *

><p><em>It was Christmas morning, and they were eleven years old. For the past years that they'd known each other, Brittany had always cycled down the street to Santana's house, and Santana would always be waiting by the window, sitting on the ledge for her.<em>

_This particular Christmas, Santana had only got three presents. Considering she usually got like at least twenty, she was a little down, but she figured it probably had to do with her mom and the empty bottles of whiskey she kept finding in the trash. After all, her dad had left and apparently all that was needed was a drink at the end of the night._

_She'd made a comment about something she'd read about on the internet – alcoholic, she recalls – but that had ended with a red cheek and a mark in the shape of her mom's hand., so doing that again wouldn't help anybody._

_Anyway, she was sitting there as always and she knew that at any moment Brittany would be coming towards her house. And right on queue, she was. Brittany, wrapped up in a thick scarf that covered the lower half of her face, a big puffer jacket that made her look huge and big fluffy ear muffs, was barreling towards her on her bicycle._

_Jumping up from her seat, Santana ran towards the door and threw it open, not caring if her mother was shouting for her and jumped down the stairs and into her best friends arms. Her small arms went around Brittany's neck, and thin arms wound around her waist and they just hugged. They hugged until Santana wasn't aware of anything except her best friends scent, the way her coat crinkled beneath her fingertips and how Brittany's cheeks were warmer than anything else._

_She pulled back and they both headed inside wordlessly, Santana's hand grasping Brittany's gloved one. Climbing the stairs, they made their way to Santana's room and immediately jumped onto the bed, crossing their legs and sitting opposite each other, their kneecaps touching and hands still connected between them._

"_I bought you a present," Brittany beamed and released one hand to take her scarf and woolly hat off._

_Santana grinned and nodded. "Me too."_

_Brittany's nose scrunched and head tilted. "You bought yourself a present on Christmas?"_

"_No, B. I meant I bought you a present," she chuckled back. "Can we do them now?"_

_The other girl nodded but then her face twisted into a frown and bottom lip stuck out into a pout. "Yeah, but I've got to go to my granny's today so I've got to leave straight after."_

_The news was sad, but Santana accepted that she couldn't spend every second of the day with Brittany. One day she could, but back then it just wasn't possible._

"_Okay..." she drew out, reaching over the side of the bed to grab at the badly wrapped present. It was only a small thing, but it was still a present. "Here," she held it out and watched the excitement etch across her best friend's face._

_Brittany reached for the present, but then stopped with her hands poised over the ribbon that Santana had tried to tie into a bow – she failed – and glanced up. She studied her best friend for a moment before reaching inside her jacket pocket and taking out an equally sized present, just as badly wrapped as Santana's. They grinned at each other, staring at the box with this weird sense of familiarity and then delved into the presents, tearing off the paper and finding they both had the same box inside._

"_Did we buy each other the same thing?" Brittany said, and Santana bit her lip to hide the laughter._

"_I don't know, Britt. Let's see."_

_At the same time, they pinched the lids and opened it up. Inside were two bracelets, silver with a silver heart charm dangling off one of the loops. Santana began to giggle and then peered over into Brittany's box, making sure that _yes, _they bought each other the same bracelets. Blue eyes flickered up to meet brown, and they stared for three seconds before bursting into laughter and toppling over, landing on their sides way too close to each other. The boxes rested between them and the tips of their noses touched from the proximity they were in, but neither of them seemed to mind._

_When the laughter died down, Brittany looked down between them and grabbed Santana's bracelet out the box, lifting it to a tanned arm and fastening it until the cool metal pressed against the inside of Santana's wrist. She thought the contrast in temperature between her skin and the silver made her shudder, but it would only be a couple of years before she realized that no, it wasn't._

_Wanting Brittany to wear hers too, Santana reached for the girl's bracelet and did the same thing, buckling it onto Brittany's right arm and allowing her fingertips to trace down the inside of her best friend's wrist as her eyes fixated on the metal. She gazed at it for long moments, before glancing between her own bracelet and the one on Brittany's wrist and felt her stomach do this weird little flip flop thing._

_Brittany grinned at her and shuffled forward, pressing every protruding facial features of theirs together. Santana held her breath and warmth spread out across every inch of her body._

"_At least we've got matching bracelets, now," the blonde girl said and the grin on her face only widened._

_Santana nodded and absently began to toy with the heart charm dangling off Brittany's bracelet. "Yeah, Britt-Britt. At least we've got matching bracelets."_

_Sparing one final glance into blue eyes, Santana shut her own. It was only a moment later that warm lips pressed to the skin of her cheek and then Brittany jumped up from the bed, eyes glazed and wide, and bounded out the room shouting _'Merry Christmas, bestie!'

_Santana cupped her own cheek and felt the skin tingle from where her best friend had just kissed her._

* * *

><p><em>They were sixteen, and Brittany was away in Holland visiting family for a month whilst Santana was stuck on her own, with nothing to do. She did have other friends obviously, but she just didn't feel like going out with them because it was a constant reminder that they weren't Brittany. It sucked and so Santana spent an entire month of her summer cooped up inside, searching the internet for ways to make enough money to fly to Amsterdam and back, and how to do so without her mother finding out.<em>

_Apparently no such thing existed on the internet._

_Anyway, it was in the early hours of the morning on a Sunday night, the day before Brittany was due back when her phone rang. The sound of Rihanna singing 'We Found Love' flowed from her phone and she frantically leaped for it from across the other side of the room, fearing she'd woken her mother and answered it._

"_Britt?" She whispered, covering the piece and her mouth with her hand to make sure she couldn't be heard. "What's wrong?"_

"I'm coming home tomorrow!" _Brittany sang and Santana walked towards her bed, flopping down on it with a grin on her face._

"_I know you are, B," she sighed and felt the left side of her chest thump unevenly._

_Ever since Brittany had left her heart had been doing this weird thing where it would thump once, stutter and then thump again. For the first few hours of it, she'd been worried and convinced herself that she was suffering from some sort of heart disorder, but then her phone rang and Brittany was on the other end, telling her she'd landed in Holland and all the people smelt funny there, and Santana's heartbeat regulated to it's normal _thumpthumpthump.

"_I've missed you."_

"I've missed you too, San," _her best friend's voice was softer, and there was a distinct layer of sadness in it. _"I can't wait to see you."

_They went on like that for a while, telling each other stories about their day because it'd only been about fourteen hours since their last phone call – Brittany rang every single night she was away – and Santana laughed when she heard that 7 year old Emily had walked into a sex shop and grabbed a toy that her young eyes really shouldn't have seen, before yelling really loudly ''_this is what the thing in boy's pants look like.'

_Fair to say the entire shop and Brittany's mother was mortified. But damn, that must have been funny as hell._

_But the hours crept by and before she knew it, Brittany was yawning and telling her that she was going to fall asleep and didn't want to be rude so she was going to go. Santana just chuckled and shuffled up the bed until her head hit the pillow, where she sighed and listened to the sound of Brittany's breathing down the line. It was comforting in a way she didn't know it could be and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling incredibly tired herself._

"_You're coming home tomorrow," she mumbled, mostly to herself but Brittany heard._

"I am. And the first thing I'm doing is coming to see you," _her best friend replied and yawned again. And Santana curled up at the image of her best friend rubbing at her eyes because somehow it was always ridiculously cute. _"Night, San." _A long pause. _"Love you."

_Santana smiled softly to herself and rolled onto her side, one hand pillowing her head. "Love you too, Britt. See you tomorrow."_

_Despite the goodbyes neither of them hung up and both fell asleep to the sound of each other breathing._

* * *

><p><em>The next day, Santana opened the door so fast it was like her life depended on it, and Brittany jumped into her arms right away, muttering how much she missed her and how she'd never go away for that long again. Santana stroked her best friend's hair and had absolutely no intention of letting Brittany go, and so for an entire five minutes, she didn't.<em>

_They just stood in the doorway of her house, the summer air blowing in through the house and for the first time in an entire month, Santana's heart was beating correctly._

* * *

><p>Santana's heart does that clenching thing and she closes her eyes, thinking about how stupid she was for ever thinking she <em>wasn't <em>in love with Brittany. It's been so clear and yet somehow, she was just so blind to it. She turns to her girlfriend, who's staring at her with questioning blue eyes and lets out a long sigh.

"Do you remember that day?" She asks, breathing out steadily. "The day after you came back from Holland?"

Brittany's brows crinkle, but she nods. "Yes..."

"And you jumped into my arms as soon as I opened the door?"

"We were sixteen," her girlfriend adds and Santana's heart flutters because Brittany remembers. Even after all this time. "And I had never been away from you for more than a day, and this vacation was a month long."

The sides of Santana's lips droop, her body recalling the way it felt back then. She remembers feeling so empty. So lonely. And no amount of distractions could take her attention away from the fact when she looked to her left, there was nobody there. No toothy smile. No shimmering blonde hair. No bright blue eyes that were like freaking oceans. Nothing.

Just an empty space.

Santana sucks in a deep breath and exhales slowly, ridding the thoughts from her mind. "I had missed you so much and when you were back it was just like everything was..." She trails off, and a hand comes up to stroke across her temple, fingers dancing down her cheekbone. Blue eyes lock onto hers, and she forgets what she was saying for a second. "..._Complete _again. Like I was complete."

Brittany smiles and it's that fifth smile that never fails to make Santana's heart expand to the point where it could possibly burst through her chest.

"I asked my mom about that, that night you know," she tells her. "I asked my mum why I felt so complete now you were back.

Brittany face lights up and a grin crosses her face. "I did too," she giggles. "I asked my mom why I'd missed you so much and didn't wanna be away from you ever again, and she just smiled at me and told me I'd find out soon."

Santana ducks her head, knowing she couldn't be more in love with this woman if she tried and presses their lips together softly. They stay like that for a long moment, just kissing until she pulls back and all she can see is blue and something she can only describe as intense, everlasting love.

And then it hits her.

She doesn't need a fancy proposal. She doesn't need to get on one knee at a Knicks game or hire a yacht and sail out to the seas to ask for Brittany's hand in marriage. She doesn't need a booking at _Le Bernardin _– one of New York's most expensive and greatest restaurants around – and a four hundred dollar bottle of champagne. All she needs is this. Her and Brittany, alone together.

"Baby?" Brittany calls, softly. "Are you okay?"

Reaching down, Santana grabs at Brittany's left hand and brings it to her face, dusting kisses across her knuckles. This is it. This is the moment. She smiles and lets her eyes close, nodding softly whilst her mind prepares the speech.

"You know," she takes in a deep breath. "Sometimes I hate myself, because I feel like I've wasted so much time with you," she glances up and sees Brittany's eyebrows pull together. "But when I really think about it... I realize we've been together ever since we met when we were younger."

Santana pauses and feels her heart pick up. She can't believe she's actually going to do this. The fingers on Brittany's right hand come up and brush lightly over her jaw, encouraging her to continue.

"None of–" the breath catches in her throat and she coughs, clearing it before starting again. "None of these moments I've had with you have been a waste because they've led to _this_ moment," she licks her lips and sucks them in, looking up through her lashes. "Where I have to keep pinching myself to make sure this is real because I'm in love with my best friend."

Brittany lets out this long sigh, and it sounds a hell of a lot like a declaration of love, but Santana can't dwell on that and lean forward like she wants to, kissing Brittany like she wants to, because that'll break her focus. This feels a lot like it did all those months ago when she was standing on Brittany's stoop in the rain, putting her heart out on the line and wishing and hoping that Brittany loved her back.

She purses her lips into an 'o' shape, trying to hold back the way her hands are quaking lightly and blows out gently. She needs to keep her cool for fuck sake.

"Britt, you're beautiful. You're kind. You're funny. You're everything I could ever hope to be in love with, and I mean," she smiles to herself and glances away, shy. But Brittany's hand is right there, tipping her head up and trying to maintain their eye contact. "I still get butterflies in my stomach whenever you're around, and when I kiss you it's like I could take off. It's just so surreal to me to know that you're mine."

Brittany's head presses further into the pillow, and Santana knows if she were standing she'd be tilting her head to the side in that ridiculously adorable way she always does. It makes her smile and a wave of calm washes over her. Why is she so nervous about this? There's not even a single part of her that thinks Brittany's not going to say yes, and to be honest, they're all each other are _ever _going to need.

Laughing to herself, she shakes her head slightly whilst a soft smile tugs at her lips. "I don't know," she starts again, licking her lips and feeling her heart thud loudly against her ribcage. "Maybe this is crazy, but, when I think about the future and where I want to be, all I can think of is being just this–" she emphasize by waving her free hand down the length of their bodies, pressed together. "Just lying next to my best friend and telling her that I love her and kissing her to sleep. And I know that'll never change ever change because," she swallows and lock eyes with Brittany. "Because I know I'll love you until the day I die."

Brittany's eyes begin to brighten and Santana thinks she might know where this is going. But it doesn't deter her, instead it fuels it and she smiles, exhaling sharply through her nose before she shifts, props herself up on her elbow and releases her girlfriend's hand, bringing it up to brush over her forehead and push a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Britt, you've always been the biggest part of my life and I think for all the happiness you've given me, the least I could do is promise to love you completely, from now and forever."

As her hand drifts down Brittany's jaw and down the side of her neck, she swears she can feel the racing pulse beneath her fingertips. Taking in a deep breath, she takes this moment to twist, and reach behind her to the top drawer of her side table. The ring sits in the center and she can't stop the massive smile that graces her face when she takes the small box in her hand and turns back.

And she swears she's never seen Brittany's eyes grow wider. In fact, her girlfriend just stops breathing all together and her jaw falls slack, mouth opening in complete shock. Soon after, a pale hand comes up and Brittany covers her smiling mouth, her eyebrows up by her hairline and her eyes completely fixated on Santana's face. Santana tugs her lower lip between her teeth and puts the box between them, twisting it to face Brittany and settling her fingers on the lid as she continues.

"So, I guess what I'm asking," she slowly opens the box and Brittany's eyes sparkle like never before as the ring comes into her view. And Santana's heart begins to race so fast she's sure it could burst straight out her chest. This is it. This is the moment and she can't contain the excitement in her tone as she says, "Is if you'll make me the happiest woman in the world, and do me the honor of marrying me?"

She doesn't even register what Brittany's answer is before Brittany's rolling on top of her, nodding furiously and pressing their mouths together in a clumsy kiss that she immediately responds to. Hands tangle in her hair, securing their faces and deepening the kiss and if Santana wasn't so damn occupied with the happiness buzzing through her and Brittany's tongue sliding into her mouth, she would have just realized that _yes, _Brittany just fucking said _yes _and that makes her her fiancée_. _Santana's fucking _fiancée _and that means they're going to get married and _fuck, _Santana doesn't think she's ever been so fucking happy in her whole entire life.

They kiss and kiss, and Santana's hands glide over the skin of her _fiancée's _– _fuck, _that feels good to think – back whilst their legs tangle further down the bed. It takes her long moments of Brittany kissing her to kick start her brain and think about the six thousand dollar ring that's somewhere on the bed, but she manages to and breaks away, which Brittany takes as a sign to begin kissing down her throat.

But Santana, being Santana, wants to do this right and laughs, because she's just that fucking happy, and squirms, coming up to cup Brittany's cheeks until the blonde girl is forced to take her lips away from a tanned neck and stares her in the eye.

She's panting, but she still manages to get out the question, "Is that a yes?" even though she's one hundred percent sure she already knows the answer. Tears are forming in Brittany's eyes and Santana almost falters, but then she registers the grin and can't stop the way her entire body is _buzzing_; buzzing with happiness, with joy, with every fucking positive emotion there possibly is.

Then Brittany nods her head furiously, sniffling as the first teardrop trails down her cheek and Santana's heart explodes inside her chest. "Yes, I'll marry you, Santana," the blonde girl says, breathless, already leaning down and kissing Santana again whilst still mumbling, "Yes, I will. A million times, yes," into her mouth.

And that's the moment Santana realizes that everything she's ever wanted has come true.

Because life's a lottery, and somehow she was lucky enough to draw the winning ticket.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh my God, I can't even begin to explain how amazing all of you have been. This has been truly an honor to write and I will be going back over the chapters to rewrite parts that don't make sense and to correct all the grammatical and normal errors.<strong>

**Thank you so much for reading this and sticking with my through the entire thing if you have! I love you guys and hope you will stick with me as an author. If not, thanks for sailing this ship and see ya later!**

**BIG HUGS!**


End file.
